


Shelter from the Storms

by theimpossiblegeekygrrl



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comfort, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Milk, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Romantic Fluff, Slightly erotic but kind of interesting, Sometimes I Need to Write Fluffy Things, not even sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27380584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimpossiblegeekygrrl/pseuds/theimpossiblegeekygrrl
Summary: A pregnant Clarice Starling finds herself living next door to Will Graham, five years after he survives the fall. Can she repair the damage done to the broken man, and does she even want to?Hannibal series continuity. I no longer use their fandom tag for personal reasons.
Relationships: Will Graham/Clarice Starling
Comments: 20
Kudos: 19





	1. February

The farmhouse might have been whitewashed ten years ago but was now a dingy shade of grey. There was a patch on the side, a clumsy attempt to hide the damage done, but the yard was well cared for, as were the dogs that sat on the porch. In the afternoon sun, the homestead was almost cozy, and it reminded Clarice Starling of the home she lived in with her momma once upon a time in a little town in East Texas.

“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,” she whispered. Still, she double-checked the address Jack Crawford wrote on his business card one last time before looking at herself in the rearview mirror of her rented car. Her looks had never really mattered to her, but she’d regret it if she walked into her old teacher’s house unannounced with spinach in her teeth. Luckily there was none, and she gave her reflection a tiny smile before opening the car door. 

A curtain moved at the front window, just enough to show that there was someone at home even though there wasn’t a car in the drive. Her back throbbed as she walked up the path to the porch, and suddenly a pack of very interested dogs was at her feet. They were friendly enough, though they all eyed her so carefully that she knew that they weren’t used to strangers.

“Get off the pretty lady.” The voice came from the porch, and Clarice looked up, seeing Will Graham leaning against the door frame. He was thinner than he’d been a decade ago, almost wiry, and still exuded the nervous, pent in energy that put most of her classmates on edge. “Don’t you have any manners? Get!”

“Does that include me?” she asked.

“I don’t know you,” he said. “It might. How can I help you, ma’am?”

Well, that stung. She straightened and pushed a stray lock of auburn hair over her shoulder. “I thought you always remembered your favorite students.”

“I haven’t been a teacher in a long time,” he said. “Things change.”

She nodded. “Then I guess I’ll be going. Sorry, Mr. Graham.” With a little wave, she turned and started walking back to her car.

“Dammit,” he said. “Hey, come back. I’m not used to having guests. You said you were my student?”

“I was.” She didn’t turn around, not just yet. “I attended the National Academy ten years ago.”

“Where were you from?”

“Texas. Still from there, actually.”

“Would you mind letting me get a better look at you?”

Clarice jumped. He was right behind her, a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t even heard him move. Usually, she could hear a pin drop, but then again, he’d always had a habit of being quick on his feet. When she turned, the sun hit her eyes, and she had to hold a hand up to shade them from the bright light. Even though she’d been warned about the scars, she still had to steady herself when his face came into focus. Almost five years had passed since the worst of the injuries, but they were still pink and angry, marking his face up like Picasso had painted him while they were both in a bad mood. She swallowed and refused to avert her eyes.

“Clarice Starling,” he said.

“So, you do remember me.”

“I guess it’s true that I don’t forget my favorites.” When he smiled, the scars weren’t as staggering, and Clarice smiled back. 

“I never forgot you either.”

“Do you want to come in? I can make coffee, or…” He looked at her stomach. Where it had been flat a week ago, she’d started to show earlier than she thought she would, and the small bump was undeniable for what it was. “Or you tell me what would be safe for you to drink.”

“I can drink a cup,” she said. “Water after that.”

“Coffee it is,” he said. 

She followed him up the path, and he held the door open for her. The house was sparsely decorated, just a few throw rugs with plain furniture that looked like it had been bought when the house was built. Clarice sat in a chair next to the kitchen, watching Will duck around as he tried to find coffee filters.

“What brings you back to Virginia? It’s a long way from Texas.”

“I had a case I needed to discuss with Special Agent Crawford,” she said. “I’m leaving my position next week, and I’m trying to make sure things are as tight as they can be.”

“When are you due?” 

“August,” she said. “Feels like a lifetime away.”

“Is your husband… or _wife_ … or… I - _ahhh_ ,” he said, turning his back to her as he measured the coffee grounds. “I don’t want to assume.”

“A husband, sort of. There was, at least. He was killed while he was undercover, a few days before I found out I was pregnant.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“So was I,” she said. 

He sat in the chair next to her, watching her as she watched him. Normal people would have been unnerved by the way he could stare at you, seeing you and seeing you better than you could see yourself, but she’d gotten used to it during her coursework. He’d been the best part of her time at the Academy, and she’d learned more from his classes than she had from any other class she’d ever taken. It wasn’t really the information presented. Learning how to think, and think critically, was the best gift a teacher could give, in Clarice’s humble opinion. 

“Did Jack send you out here?”

“He might have,” she said.

“Why?” His tone was still friendly, though the words were sharply spoken. “Did he make you his messenger? Tell him I’m still alive, and there will be a new book out in the fall if I stay on schedule.”

“I ain’t telling him anything. I’m no one’s messenger, especially not his. Last time I checked, the state of Texas writes my paychecks,” she said wryly. 

“Then, why are you here?”

“I… I saw a picture of the two of you on his credenza, and I started talking about how much I enjoyed your classes. He gave me your address,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry, I should have called or… stayed away. I’m sure you prefer privacy.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” he said. The bitterness in his voice was hard to miss. As excited as she’d been at the idea of paying a visit to him, she decided that maybe this was one of the worst ideas she’d had in a while.

“Well, then. I guess it’s time for me to go.” She stood and picked up her purse, intent on rushing out the front door. Unfortunately, her uterus decided this was the perfect time to press down on her bladder. There was a gas station twenty minutes back up the road, but it hadn’t looked like a place she could consider stopping at. “May I use your restroom first? I’m sorry, it’s the –”

“First door on the left,” he said.

“Thanks.” 

The door between them was a welcome barrier. Clarice looked at herself in the cracked mirror while she washed her hands. Sometimes, she still expected to see the old girl staring back at her, the same one who had attended the Academy. She’d still been a hustling rube in those days, so eager and determined to make everything right and do right by everyone. 

Now she was tired and a little burned out. A lot burned out if she was telling the truth. The towel she dried her hands on was as drab as the house, as drab as she felt in her black shirt and skirt. She’d hoped to make a connection with this visit, maybe make a much-needed friend, especially since she was moving here in a few weeks.

Her back was straight when she opened the door, reinforced with iron. She jumped again when she saw him leaning against the wall across from her, and she silently cursed herself.

“I’ve been rude, Clarice.” 

“I was rude first,” she said with a shrug. “I came out here unannounced. It won’t happen again.”

“When are you going home?”

“Friday.”

“That’s a long time to spend on a case,” he said, his eyes too sharp for comfort. “And most people just call the BAU or send the information through the chain instead of going to Quantico.”

“I’m not most people. But you’re right, and I won’t make you dig. I’m moving to Virginia at the end of the month, and I needed to sign the mortgage papers. Two birds, one stone.”

“New job?”

“Yeah, something a little less dangerous.” She looked down at her hands, to the spot where her wedding rings used to sit. “I’ll start teaching in the Criminal Justice program in Maryland next spring.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll just get on out of here.”

“Stay for coffee. It’s ready, and…” He looked towards the kitchen and sighed helplessly. If he still wore glasses, he’d probably be polishing them to distract himself from the conversation. “Look, I’m not very good at this.”

“I remember. You always seemed a little shy.”

“Not shy. Not really. Not anymore, at least.”

“Then what?”

He swallowed and looked at his feet instead of at her. “I’ve killed people, Clarice.”

“So have I.”

“But you’ve killed on the job, to protect the public and yourself. I’m sure you’ve seen on the news or read about what happened.”

“I have,” she admitted. “And I still drove all the way out here.”

“Why?”

She leaned against the wall across from him. Frankness was always a quality she valued in people, and she decided to cut the shit. “Well, Jack did send me out here, but not for the reason you think. He thought I might need a friend. And I guess he thought you could use one, too.”

“I’m not the kind of person you want as a friend.”

“What makes you think that?” 

“I’m not… _good_.”

“Mr. Graham –”

“You aren’t my student anymore. Call me Will.”

“Alright, Will,” she said. “You do a lot when you are called to jobs like ours. You see the best and the worst of people, and sometimes it gets too close to home. None of us are immune to it, not even me.”

“I doubt that. You seem pretty normal.”

“Then you haven’t been watching the news, have you?”

“I don’t own a TV anymore.”

“You don’t even know,” she said softly. “I thought you knew everything.”

“Know what?” 

“My best friend was a serial killer, the one the media called Buffalo Bill. And I didn’t even see it until it was too late. I caught him six months ago, and I’m the one who killed him. I saved a senator’s daughter in the process, but it doesn’t change the fact that I killed someone I loved to do it.”

The breath he took in was drawn out and painful, similar to the one she’d taken the moment before she pulled the trigger on her gun, and it was a long time before he looked up and met her eyes. “If you weren’t pregnant, I’d offer you a drink.”

“And if I weren’t pregnant, I’d drink it. Pour one for yourself, make it a double, and drink it for me.”

They sat at his table, a cup of coffee in front of her, and a glass of scotch in front of him. Neither of them spoke for a while, and it took the dogs barking outside to break the silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Not really. Do you?”

“Not especially. Why move out here?”

She sipped her coffee, which tasted like the stuff they brewed at the station – too strong and just right. “I need a fresh start. All my family is gone, and Johnny didn’t have any, either. Virginia was the only place I’ve been that felt like a place I could stay awhile. I bought the house a few miles up the road. I didn’t know you still lived out here until Jack told me.”

“We’ll be neighbors?”

She nodded. 

“That might be…”

“Terrible?”

“No. It might be nice.”

The relief was immediate, and she finally relaxed for the first time since she left Jack’s office. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

“I didn’t expect to.”

“I figured as much. I thought about finding another place the whole way here.”

“Which house did you buy?”

“The Lenderman place, about two miles up.”

“Big house. It’s a lot of property to keep up with.”

“I’ll manage. I always liked the idea of having a yard and space, a lot more than Johnny did.”

“Johnny was your husband?”

“Yep,” she said. “He was… well, he was married to the job, but I’m sure he would have said the same thing about me.”

“I was married for a while.”

“I’d heard. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

He shifted in his chair and knocked back the rest of his Scotch. “It would have been easier for her if I’d died in the water along with Hannibal Lecter. Sometimes I wish I had.”

“I know you think that, Will. But trust me – it wouldn’t have been easier. Life is a gift, even when it doesn’t feel like it.” She looked at her cup. The coffee was gone and should have perked her up, but she sure as shit felt tired. “I gonna head back to my hotel.”

“Clarice, I didn’t mean –”

“It’s fine,” she said quietly and stood. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

He walked her to the door. His dogs rushed past her when it opened, almost knocking her over. He placed a hand on her arm when she wobbled. “Sorry about them.”

“Not a problem. I’ve got one of my own at home, and she’s not very polite either.”

“What’s her name?”

“Brownie.”

“Bring her with you the next time you come by.”

“I will,” she said. His hand lingered on her arm, and she stared at it until he pulled away. “Bye, Will.”

“Bye, Clarice.”

She walked to her car and turned back, catching a glimpse of him standing at the door. The sun was starting to set, lighting up the line of bare trees behind his house. It made a pretty picture, one she carried with her on the plane back to Texas.


	2. March

He didn’t feel like walking, even though he used to make the trip once or twice a week with the dogs huddled around his legs. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he’d actually ironed his shirt for a change, and maybe it didn’t. He tried not to think too much about it, even though he’d taken the time to shave this morning, too. 

Will drove up to the big white house that sat a full acre off the road. It had been whitewashed recently and looked better kept than the Lenderman’s had left it. The trees out front were beginning to bud with green leaves, and big pots of purple periwinkles sat on the porch, framing a rocking chair that looked like it had sat in front of a few homes before this one. 

He stayed in his car for a while, still questioning whether to stay or leave before finally getting out. He hadn’t called to let her know he was coming; then again, he’d forgotten to ask for her number when she’d stopped by last month. But there was a red Mustang in the covered garage with Texas plates on the back, and music was playing somewhere inside. Bob Dylan, not what he’d expected from a country girl like Clarice. When he knocked on the screen door, a chocolate Labrador bounded up to him and barked loudly, though the grin on the dog’s muzzle showed her friendly nature. 

“Brownie, what in the fresh hell are you up to?” Clarice followed the dog, smiling as she wiped her hands on a bright red dishtowel. She had an apron around her waist, and her hair was tied up in a scarf. She was bigger than she had been three weeks ago, her bare belly poking out from beneath her ‘I Dissent’ t-shit in a way that made Will’s stomach flip around like it hadn’t since before Hannibal’s arrest. She smiled when she saw him on the porch, one of those big smiles she’d always had after class before she pummeled him with extra questions. “Well, hey there, neighbor. Took you long enough to stop by. You want to come in?”

“Sure,” he said, opening the door. 

“I’ve got supper in the oven, plenty for two if you want to stay and eat.”

He thought about the frozen dinner that was waiting for him at home and quickly said yes.

“Good.”

He looked around as he followed her inside. This place felt like a home more than his house ever did. The walls were painted deep, heavy cream, and there were pictures everywhere, mostly of rugged landscapes. There were a few personal ones here and there, including a small photo on the mantle. Clarice was grinning ear to ear in a big, white dress, standing next to a blonde man in a tuxedo. 

“Did the move go well?”

“Oh, yeah. I had great movers, barely had to lift a finger. You want to sit in the kitchen with me while I finish up? I like having someone to talk to while I cook.”

The kitchen was just as warm as the rest of the house, golden yellow with white cabinets. He sat at the table, and Brownie followed them, taking a seat on top of his feet as she sniffed his knees.

“Sorry. She misses Johnny something terrible. You’ll be lucky if she lets you leave. Do you like meatloaf?”

“I do, thank you.”

“I’m not a gourmet, but I can cook like my momma did. Good ole stuff you’d find at a diner.”

“That sounds pretty great. I’ve had enough gourmet food for a lifetime, and I don’t miss it.”

She bowed her head over a salad bowl and sighed. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You don’t have to always be on guard.”

“Still, I don’t want to dredge up bad memories.”

“They weren’t all bad.” As much as he hated to admit it, it was true. Hannibal was a generous host and a generous lover… even if he’d also been generous with his insanity. “He had his good moments like I’m sure yours did.”

“I guess so,” she said. “Hey, I’m a terrible hostess – do you want a drink? I’ve got sweet tea and soda, and I bought a six-pack of beer in case you decided to stop by.”

“What kind of beer?”

“The only kind worth drinking. PBR, cold and in a can.”

Will laughed and tried to stand, but the dog had parked herself on his feet and refused to budge, whining pitifully when he attempted to move.

“I’ll get it - stay put. She’s in seventh heaven; no need to spoil it.” She went to the fridge and grabbed a can. “Do you want a glass?”

“No, that’s fine.” He popped the top and drank the cheap beer, the same stuff he drank when he was still working in New Orleans. He’d always preferred it, even over the microbrews from Hannibal’s cellar. “Pretty soon, it’ll be warm enough to enjoy one outside.”

“Then I’ll remember to keep grabbing them at the store, even though I’ll be sticking to tea this summer. The back porch is screened in now, and I put up a ceiling fan yesterday. Gonna be my kind of perfect.” She rubbed her stomach, something sweet and secret passing over her face as she smiled to herself. Will had never been around a pregnant woman before, and he was curious about what was going on inside her mind.

“Everything okay?”

“Little Bit is kicking up a storm.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Bubbles at first, but now it feels like butterfly kisses,” she laughed. “Do you want to see if you can feel it?”

He nodded, and Clarice moved to stand in front of him. Will wasn’t sure what to do with his hands until she grabbed his wrists and lifted them to her. He could feel the heat of her skin through her thin shirt, and his stomach flipped around again until he felt the flutters against his palms.

“Holy shit.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“It’s… it’s something alright,” he said. Her fingers slipped away from his wrists, but he kept his hands where they were, even after the tiny movements went away. 

“You’re the first person who’s ever waited for permission. All the guys at the BAU wanted to feel when I stopped by.”

“I’m sure Jack didn’t. He’s pretty respectful of personal space.”

“And you’d be wrong about that,” she said, giggling softly. “I went to Quantico yesterday and took him some lunch, and he got a goofy grin on his face when he felt what you’re feeling.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Just about the sweetest thing you ever saw. A big man like that going gaga over a pregnant woman? Made my heart melt.”

He let his hands linger a little longer, but when the urge to lay his head against her stomach got too strong, he grabbed his beer with both hands and took a quick sip. “Did you ever think you’d be doing this by yourself?”

“It had crossed my mind, though not doing it quite like this. I had a backup plan before Johnny and I met,” she said, clearing her throat as she walked to the stove. She opened it, and the simple scent of meat and potatoes filled the air. “Jame had actually volunteered to be a sperm donor at first, but then he decided he wanted to do it the old-fashioned way. We had a pact to get married when we were thirty-five if neither of us had partnered up first. I think he was disappointed when Johnny and I got engaged. The idea kind of grew on him.”

“He didn’t date or anything?”

“Nothing that ever lasted longer than a few weeks.” She took the pans of the oven, her back still to him. Her shoulders shook a little, though she didn’t make a sound. “Sorry. It’s the hormones.”

“I doubt that.”

“Then, you’d be right.” She turned slightly, her eyes red enough to show the pain. “Do you ever regret killing him?”

Flickers Hannibal’s handsome face passed through his mind, predominantly the cruel images of what he’d looked like that night on the cliff. They’d both been covered with blood, though the blood on Hannibal’s skin had belonged to the Red Dragon. Will had realized a few moments before he pushed them over the edge that he truly loved that man. It was why he wanted to kill him – _needed_ to kill them both – and love had been his last thought before hitting the icy water.

“I don’t know if I could regret it, even if I wanted to. I removed a monster from the world.”

“So did I. But I still miss him every damn day. Sometimes to the point that I ache for him, even though I never knew him like I thought I did.”

“Did you love him?”

“If I’d had a brother, I can’t imagine loving him any more than I did Jame Gumb.” When she finally looked at him, tears were on her cheeks, tears she hastily tried to wipe away.

“I loved mine too, though not like a brother. Even after I knew what he was capable of, I still wanted to be... _possessed_ by him.”

“Some people are drawn together, like magnets.” 

“Or the way moths are to light.”

“Were you his light?”

Will considered the question, remembering what Hannibal had said about them being two sides of the same coin. Hannibal had wanted them to be, had tried to will it through his manipulation of events. But they simply weren’t and never could be, even after killing their own monster together.

“I guess I was.”

“I know the feeling.”

They stared at each other for so long that he would have gotten uncomfortable with anyone else. But he felt something with her, in this warm kitchen with a dog that twitched in her sleep that felt... easy. He hadn’t noticed when she’d visited his home or even when she’d been his student just how kind her eyes were. They were more crinkled now, just around the edges, but they held him whole as though she could see him for who he was and still liked what she saw. There was no judgment like when he looked at his reflection in the mirror - only acceptance and peace.

“How about a big plate of food and another beer?” 

“I think I’d like that,” he said.

They ate together, and the conversation was lighter than it had been before. They spoke of their spouses, of the better times that held such bittersweet memories. And after they’d tucked in a bowl of the cobbler that Clarice quickly made, Will realized he was sad that the evening was going to be over soon. Brownie had finally moved, and they sat on her sofa, still talking as the stereo played in the background when Clarice started to yawn.

“I feel like I could sleep all the time,” she said sheepishly. “Hopefully, it’ll pass.”

“Thank you for dinner,” he said. “And for inviting me in. I better head back to my place.”

“Can I drive you home?” she asked. “You drank all my beer.”

“I did?” He hadn’t even noticed.

“Or I’ve got a spare room if you want to stay the night. Did you feed your pack before you left?”

He had.

“What do you want to do?”

He pretended to think about it. “I’ll stay.”

She smiled, one of those big honest smiles, and stood. “I’ll go put some sheets on the bed.”

He looked at more of the photos when she left the room and finally noticed the one sitting on the mantle next to her wedding picture. Side by side, two pictures sat in the same frame: one of a freckled face Clarice, her hair in braids with a solemn boy next to her, his arm around her thin shoulders, and the other showing a grown-up Clarice in blue jeans and cowboy boots, the solemn-faced boy now a dour man who still held her like he owned her. The mask he wore was invisible, but it was still there, hiding who he really was, even though his cold eyes might have betrayed some of the truth. It wasn’t taken too long ago. The laugh lines had already started to form around Clarice’s eyes, and there was a wedding ring on her finger.

She’d snuck up behind him, and even though Will wasn’t one to jump, he did when she spoke. “I see you found him.”

“Is this him?”

“That was my Jame.”

He looked at him a little longer, taking in the happy, oblivious expression on Clarice’s face. “You never knew?”

She shook her head. “He hid behind a really good… I don’t know what to call it. A costume of humanity, maybe? But I think he cared about me. Or at least he pretended to, until the moment I saw him for who he was.”

There was a mark on her cheek, just under her eye. He’d thought it was a scar, but this close, he could see the fine grains embedded in her skin. He touched the old gunpowder with his fingertip.

“Did you get this that day?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“He pulled a gun on me. It wasn’t even our case – the bodies were found in Oklahoma – but the FBI presented the profile to us when a local girl was found up there. Everything clicked in when I was at his house for lunch the next day, and he knew me well enough to know it. What he didn’t know was that I always keep a gun strapped to my ankle, just in case.” She touched a scar on his face, the one on his cheek that Francis Dolarhyde had given him with a hunting knife. “When did you get this?”

“The day I… we…” He swallowed and couldn’t continue, emotion welling up in his throat.

“That day?”

He nodded.

“This shouldn’t have happened to you,” she said softly.

“Shouldn’t have happened to you either.”

She took in a ragged breath. “Everyone blames me back home, even if they don’t want to say it. Even Johnny.”

“Is that why it didn’t work?”

“Pretty much, but we’d been having problems for a while, probably before we get married. Little Bit was the result of some damn fine good-bye sex. We’d just signed the divorce papers, went to our favorite bar and had too much to drink, then decided why not have one more last time.” Her smile was rueful. “Funny thing is, I’m glad it happened. I wasn’t at first – it just messed my head up about the divorce even worse than it was. But things worked out like they were supposed to, even if I didn’t know it at the time.”

He didn’t know what to say. Instead of trying to say the wrong thing, he took her in his arms and held her in front of the fire he’d built after dinner, the faces of the men who had left her glaring at them both. She was so tiny, so much smaller than Molly had been, her shoulders not even as broad as his chest. But they felt right in his hands, right enough that he held her for a little longer until she seemed to melt against him. When the urge to kiss her forehead, maybe kiss her mouth, started to get too strong, he awkwardly patted her back and let her go.

“I’m a little drunk. Where… where’s that spare room?”

“I’ll show you.”

It was decorated too, in deep brown and pale blues, and it felt more like someone really lived there than his own bedroom did. 

“The bathroom is across the hall. I’ll leave some towels on the sink in case you need them.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Will slept soundly that night, in that sweet spot between a little drunk and a little sober, and for the first time in years, he dreamed about something other than the darkness that had once threatened to consume him. In the morning, she made pancakes and bacon, and her coffee was even muddier than his. 

“Will, why don’t you come back later? Bring your pack with you. Maybe Brownie will make a friend, too.”

He hid a grinned behind his hand. “Are we friends, Clarice?”

“I’d like to be.”

His face hurt when he left, and it had nothing to do with his scars. The muscles in his cheeks weren’t used to smiling that much, and when he caught his reflection in the rearview mirror, he noticed there was one still plastered on his face. 

“Stop it,” he whispered, even though the smile stayed put long after he let the dogs out.


	3. April

Clarice had a six-pack of cold beer and a jug of sweet tea next to her in the front seat along with supper. Brownie thumped her tail in the back, excited to see her new friends. The dog all but jumped from the car, running out to meet the rest of the pack she’d let herself be adopted into. Will was already on the steps, and he stood when she got out.

“Let me help you with that,” he said, struggling to carry the heavy bag that held the food when she passed it to him. “Dang. What on earth is in there?”

“Spaghetti and all the fixins. Big loaf of bread. And a cheesecake for dessert. I couldn’t sleep last night, so I decided to cook instead of… _ahhh_ … stare at the ceiling.” It was a little fib, but he really didn’t have to know what she’d been doing instead of trying to sleep.

“Thank you for letting me enjoy the spoils of your insomnia.”

They took everything inside, and Clarice started looking for a pot to cook the pasta in. “Do you have a stockpot or something other than these frying pans?”

“Look in the cabinet next to the stove. My dad’s old shrimp boiler is in there.”

“I see it now,” she said. She couldn’t find a lid, but she could make do without one. She took the pot to the sink and turned on the tap, filling it with water.

“You look really nice.”

“I do?” Her back was turned to him, so he couldn’t see the blush darken her cheeks. She’d finally had to buy maternity clothes, and so what if she’d bought a few dresses that she thought he might like?

“Yeah, you really do,” he said. He was behind her again, in the quiet way he had, but she’d learned to sense the changes in the air when she was around him. His aftershave was one she liked, the one most of the guys at the station wore, and she breathed it in as she tried to get the butterflies in her stomach to settle. “Do you want some help with that?”

“Sure,” she said and moved over. The heat from his body made every hair on her skin stand on end, and she had to take a few steps back before she made a total fool of herself. 

He sat the pot on the burner and lit the flame, then turned and studied her in that way of his that let her know that he probably knew exactly what she was thinking. “What’s up, Clarice?”

“What do you mean?”

“The dress. The big dinner.”

“I always cook whenever –”

“But they’re all my favorites, not yours. I thought you hated spaghetti.”

 _Shit._ “It’s the pregnancy,” she muttered and averted her eyes.

“It’s made you like spaghetti?”

“Ummm… _yes?”_

He laughed and leaned against the counter next to her, bumping her hip with his. She moaned a little, still unable to meet his eyes when he touched her arm. 

“What’s wrong, honey? Is everything okay with the baby?”

“No. I mean, _yes_ , the baby’s fine. It’s…” She swallowed and looked down, noticing the crack in the tile that looked like it went into the foundation. “You should get that fixed. It’s just going to get worse.”

“I should fix a lot of things around here,” he said. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

At least this time, her blush had a new purpose. “I… I’m having trouble sleeping.”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times.”

“Did you know that sometimes pregnant women… that sometimes the only thing they can think about is… _shit_ , I shouldn’t even be talking about this.” She rubbed her neck with her hands, feeling the heat that now traveled down to her chest. 

“Talking about what?”

“All I can think about is sex.” The words came fast, bubbling up from her throat. 

“Huh.” His voice cracked. 

“Yeah, and… the thing of it is, my vibrator isn’t cutting it, and I wondered… I mean, if it wouldn’t mess anything up between us…”

“Are you asking me to have _sex_ with you?”

“More like a pity fuck,” she said nervously. “I was hoping maybe I could maybe woo you with good food and beer, and maybe it would just… and I wouldn’t have to… oh _God_ , this is so embarrassing.” She put her hands over her eyes and started to giggle uncontrollably. 

“You were trying to _woo_ me?”

“Yeah, I guess I was. And I’ve ruined it.”

“Why do you think you’ve ruined it?”

“Because now you know that I’m… _horny_ , and—” She looked at her arm, at the hand that was gently stroking her skin. Her breathing was even more unsteady, especially when that hand left her arm and hovered over her neck.

“You could have just asked.” His voice was so gentle that she tilted towards him, her head leaning against his shoulder. It was a good place to hide, and it gave her the courage to come clean.

“I’ve tried, every time I’ve seen you for the last two weeks. I don’t want anything to mess up our friendship, and it seems like sex is the quickest way to ruin one.”

“We can still be friends.” His hand was now trailing down her chest, the palm kissing the curve of her breast before lingering at her waist.

“We can?”

He nodded and pulled her closer to him.

“Would you please fuck me, Will?” she whispered. “I’ll keep you in beer for the rest of your life and make you spaghetti twice a week until you’re sick of it. I don’t know if you’ll have to do that much – I think I could come if you touched me.”

“That’s probably a good thing. It’s been a while, and I might not last long.” His hand was on her leg, moving the thin fabric of her dress up her thigh. She started to tremble; her whole body now strung so tightly that she couldn’t breathe. “Do you need to come now, or do you want to wait until after dinner?”

“Oh, fuck. _Now_.”

His hand was between her legs, a real, unpredictable hand with hard callouses and rough skin that felt like heaven. She was already so wet that he didn’t need anything to slick her skin, and it only took two or three swipes over her clitoris before she started to shake, needing to hold him to keep from falling.

 _“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,”_ she whispered. Her head rolled against his shoulder, and he kept touching her, a few more little sweeps of his fingers, and she was coming again, her body convulsing when he slipped a finger inside. She made noises she’d never heard before, and the deep chuckle of satisfaction next to her made it even more delicious.

“Do you feel better?” 

Clarice nodded and tried to catch her breath, still shaking a little when she wiped the sweaty bangs from her face. “That was incredible,” she said, feeling much more relaxed than she had ten minutes ago and more like herself than she had in a few weeks. She wanted to kiss him, and she almost leaned in until she decided to ask him first. “Do friends kiss, Will?”

He pretended to consider it, comically frowning until he nodded. “I think friends like us do.”

“Friends with benefits?”

“Yeah.”

She kissed him, and instead of soothing her like it normally would, it ramped her libido back up. She slipped her tongue in his mouth, tasting the Scotch he’d had before she arrived and something dark and sweet that was unique to him. 

“More,” she whispered, and his hand was back, stroking her until she was almost crying with pleasure.

“Have you always been this responsive?” His lips were against her ear, and he kissed it gently.

“Never like this.” She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling as her breathing slowed. There was a crack, a big one that ran down the wall and disappeared behind the cabinets. “Your house is falling apart.”

“I have my _fingers_ in your—”

“ _Shhh_ ,” she giggled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It _is_ falling apart.” His hand moved to her thigh, and she thought about grabbing it and putting it back. But the water was starting to boil, and the room was filling with steam that they hadn’t made. 

“I could help you fix it. One of my foster fathers was a contractor; I used to help him out after school.”

“I doubt it’s worth the time.”

“If you ever change your mind, I’m available.”

“I’ll remember that.” He smiled, showing off a dimple that she hadn’t noticed before. Kissing his cheek was an impulse, but one she was glad she’d indulged in when it deepened. 

“So. Dinner,” she said. “Where’s the bag with all the goodies?”

“Right behind you.”

She turned and unpacked as he washed up, both of them grinning ear to ear while their backs were to each other.

* * *

_Holy damn shit._

Will tried to stop smiling, his thoughts shifting to baseball to help cool them off. Before tonight, when was the last time he’d even thought about sex? Not in that distant way of remembering good experiences in the shower or absently wondering if he should go to a bar and pick someone up for a one-night stand. Truth be told, it had been since before Molly left. But he’d had some good dreams lately, dreams that ended with him needing to change his sheets like a teenager – dreams that involved a familiar figure with red hair and blue-green eyes. 

He wiped his hands on the towel that she brought over last week and left behind, one with little cacti embroidered on the bottom. It had smelled like her house, and he’d been reluctant to wash it until one of the dogs decided to sleep with it two nights ago. Her back was to him; she’d gotten busy with warming up dinner and boiling the pasta, and there was a deep temptation to wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her neck. But friends definitely didn’t do that, and instead, he peeked over her shoulder at the food, his nose passing over her hair as he let his body get a little too close to hers.

“Did you just smell my hair?” 

The question was laughably familiar, and there was a sudden understanding of why Hannibal had always been so irritated by his choice of aftershave. He’d never really cared about the perfume Molly wore, and he’d never been with anyone else long enough to develop a preference. But there was something about the way she smelled, something that the strawberry scent of her shampoo and the vanilla perfume she wore on her wrists only enhanced, and now he regretted never picking up something that suited him better than the stuff with a little ship on the bottle.

“ _Uhhh_ … no?”

“You smelled my hair, Will,” she said, though there was a smile in her voice.

“Maybe I did. It smells nice.”

“I’m glad you like it.” 

She reached back and grabbed his hands, placing them on her belly. The baby was kicking, something he always enjoyed feeling, especially now that it was getting so strong. Maybe friends didn’t hold each other and kiss each other’s necks, but he did it anyway. She leaned against him, humming happily as the tart scent of tomato sauce filled the air around them.

“What did you want to be when you grew up, when you were little?” she asked.

 _A dad_. “A cop.”

“I always wanted to be a mom,” she said. “Especially after mine died.”

“What made you decide to be a cop?”

“I wanted to catch bad guys. _Duh_.”

He huffed a laugh against her neck, loving the way she shivered in response. “Catch bad guys, make the world a safer place.”

“I guess so. At least I can help teach the ones coming in about what to watch out for.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do with my books. Maybe someone can learn from the mistakes I’ve made or from the few triumphs in between.”

A beat passed, and she shyly said, “I’ll be using them in my curriculum.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“That’s because I wanted it to be special when I told you. I’ve been working on the syllabus for my classes… I was going to frame one and give it to you.”

“You and your pictures.”

“It makes a place feel more like home.”

“I don’t know if this is a home as much as it is a way station,” he confessed, kissing her neck again.

“Where do you see your journey taking you to next?”

“I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I find out.”

“I’d appreciate it,” she said, her voice even softer than it had been before. He thought he might have said something wrong until she turned in his arms and gave him a tiny smile. “Do you think you might need a friend with you wherever you go?”

“Probably.”

“Good. It’ll be two friends, but –”

“I know.”

Her smile widened, and maybe friends didn’t cop a feel either, but his hands seemed to fit around her bottom as though they were made to do just that. Clarice didn’t seem to care, and she stood on her toes to kiss him. Desire and heat filled his chest, drifting down to his already taxed groin, and he pushed his hips against hers, just enough to let her know how interested he was in taking care of her needs as soon as possible. That sweet little moan was back, and her eyes glittered when she spoke.

“You know, if I dump the pasta in a sauce now and let it sit… it’ll be perfect in an hour.”

“Will it?”

She nodded, her expression conveying mock seriousness. “Plus, the dogs will want to come in when it gets dark, and Brownie likes to snuggle.”

“Were you planning on staying the night?”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times until he started to laugh. “Spend the night with me. But I snore, and if my dogs see Brownie on the bed, they’re likely to try to pile up with us.”

“I’m fine with all of that.”

“Then why don’t you drain the pasta?”

“Do you have a colander?”

“Nope.”

“What about a slotted spoon?”

He opened the drawer next to them and pulled one out, handing it to her. She moved the pasta into the sauce and stirred it up, then turned off the flame. And in the middle of the kitchen, she unbuttoned his trousers and took him in hand, stroking his erection until his vision blurred.

“Bed,” he panted, swatting at her until she let him go. 

He took her to his bedroom, a little embarrassed by its spartan appearance, but it didn’t matter when she took off her dress. She was all curves and freckled skin, and it was so easy to lower her to the bed and kiss her everywhere as he had in his dreams. Nothing complicated or impossible, nothing that made him feel guilty or ill at ease. When she moved on top of him, guiding him inside her heat, it felt like he was home. The last time didn't matter, not when the fragrance that made him crazy was all over him, strands of her wavy hair drifting over his chest as they moved together. He lasted longer than he thought he would, long enough for her cry out twice before he joined her in that sweet oblivion.


	4. May

_"Mmmm…"_

"Do you like that?" Will's voice was as teasing as his hands could be, and she almost wanted to slap him. Except his hands were doing exceptional things, really wonderful things, and Clarice wouldn't have stopped him if her life depended on it. 

"There?"

"Higher…"

"Deeper?"

"Just a… _hmmm_ – right there, just like that."

Her foot was in his hands, slightly swollen and cramped, and he was taking his time in working the knots in her arches. It was incredible, almost as good as the sex they indulged in when the urge hit, and she watched him over the ever-growing swell of her belly, head lifted with a plethora of extra pillows. He was watching her too, like he always did, feeding his actions from her non-verbal cues. Clarice knew how lucky she was to be so friendly with a man which such deep empathy, who could read a room with more instinct than a Baptist preacher in need of funds, but who wanted to give instead of take. 

"All better?"

"I think so. That was a bad one."

He crawled back up the bed and laid next to her, putting his reading glasses on before grabbing the book from the nightstand. It was a criminology textbook that she was thinking about using in the spring, and they were taking turns reading aloud as other couples might read from a mystery novel or perhaps the Bible.

"I think you've sold me on this one."

"I hope I have. I used to work with one of the editors when I was still living in New Orleans. She's passionate about her work."

"So were you."

"So I was," he agreed.

"Do you miss being in the field?"

He considered the question briefly before answering, "No. I couldn't continue like I was. Occasionally I wonder if it would be different now, but I doubt it. I don't think I could get into those minds anymore without it affecting me, and after… after Hannibal…" He sighed and looked at her over his glasses, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

"After he fucked with your head so bad?"

He nodded. "It's hard enough to write and keep perspective. Being back at a crime scene might undo it all again."

His hand was between them, skipping back and forth in the space between their bodies. Friends didn't hold hands, but she grabbed it and held on. "I'm here."

"I know. I'm glad you are." His smile was tight, but it was there, and she returned it. "What about you?"

"I haven't had time to miss it yet. Maybe I will one day."

"If you were younger, Jack would try to recruit you."

_"Ouch."_

"It's true. You just missed the age cut-off."

"I'm not sorry about it, not after what you went through."

"You might be able to handle it better than I did."

She shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. I'd probably just get lost in there. Besides, I'm excited about teaching. It's a new adventure and something I always wanted to do. Especially after attending the National Academy."

"I'm glad it helped you find your way. It's why it was created." 

"It helped me a lot. Unfortunately… I did spend a lot of time staring at one of my instructors." A flush bloomed on his cheeks. It was adorable, and she rolled over to look at him better. "Did you know I had a crush on you?"

"Do homicide detectives have crushes?"

"Sometimes, they do. Half of us were nuts about you. You were so cute: blue eyes, messy hair, and so mysterious."

He chuckled, and she knew he didn't believe her. "I'd scare everyone away now. Hannibal would have a lot to say about how ugly I've become."

"You aren't ugly, Will."

"Oh, yes, I am."

"Oh no, you aren't." There was a scar on his shoulder, a healed gunshot wound peeking out from the hole in his old t-shirt, and she touched it instead of the scars on his face. "Scars show what a brave, tough sumbitch you are. Some people find that a turn on."

"Are you one of those people?"

"Yep."

"And are you turned on right now?"

She ran a hand over her hip, fingers dipping beneath her panties, just to check. Her fingertips were wet, and she brought them out to show him. His pupils dilated, black overtaking the blue, and his breath quickened. 

"What do you think?" she whispered.

He sat the book back on the table and took off his glasses, lifting his shirt over his head. She tried to move closer to him, but Brownie took the moment of silence to leap on the bed and park herself between them, laying her head between their pillows as she rolled over, showing her belly to Will.

"Well, it's official. Somebody's jealous," she sighed. 

"I'd rather rub _her_ belly," he said, frowning as he stared down at the dog. Brownie licked his face and whined until he started scratching. Then she flopped on her back again and groaned, giving Clarice a triumphant side-eye that made her laugh.

"I think my dog's in love with you," Clarice giggled. "On the nights you're not here, she mopes around like a teenager."

"Do you have a crush on me like your Mommy used to? Huh?" 

Brownie licked him and whined again, this time trying to imitate the speech she so often heard. He grinned and kept scratching, and Clarice gave up and joined him. 

"She's pretty spoiled."

"A little. She was a cockblocker in Texas, too."

"Ah, well. She'll have to go out eventually."

"Uh-huh," Clarice yawned. "Hopefully, I'm still awake when she does."

"I'll wake you up."

"Will you?"

"Yeah." His eyes were level with hers when he leaned over the big dog and kissed her, the kiss lasting for just a moment. Brownie whined again, speaking up until they broke apart.

"You better go out soon, little lady," Clarice said.

That side-eye was back, and Clarice gave it right back to her as she rested against her pillow. Will laughed at them both and turned off the light.

"You never answered me," she said. "Did you know I liked you?"

His voice was quiet in the dark. "I knew."

"What did you think about me?"

He draped his arm around the dog, but his hand touched Clarice's. "I couldn't think anything about you until you were gone. And then I thought a lot about what I'd missed."

He was still avoiding the answer, but it didn't matter. He'd said enough to make her feel warm and content inside, and that sweetness carried over into her dreams. She held onto his hand, and even in sleep, she kept it close to her heart.

* * *

_"Winston?"_

His oldest, though still the baby even after all their time together, stared at him. Will was at his desk, trying to finish the last paragraph of the chapter about Tobias Budge. But the eyes on him were unnerving, and he rolled away from his desk, spinning around in his chair until he was face to face with his boy.

"She's busy today. We'll go over to play tomorrow."

Winston rested his head on his paws, brown eyes watering slightly, and gave him a low, frustrated woof. And those wizened eyes judged him, oh boy did they ever.

"I promise. She had to go to Maryland to sign her contract. Clarice is –"

The dog's ears perked up, and he thumped his tail against the floor.

"She's a busy woman, little man. Plus, we can't be over there all the time. We're just friends. Friends don't spend all day every day together."

Even though rolling his eyes was impossible, Winston gave the appearance of doing it. He got up and walked away, though not before passing some very odious gas as he left the room.

"Nice one. Thanks a lot! _Jesus,"_ Will said and turned back to his computer. He pecked out the last couple of sentences, deciding not to include a description of the look on Hannibal's face when Will walked into his office, alive. Some things were better left unsaid, especially when everyone already knew the truth. He hit the save button and shut the laptop, drumming his fingers on the top as he stood. A drink was in order, and not a glass of fancy wine that he didn't really like. He wanted one of the cheap beers from the back of Clarice's fridge, needed to sit on her back porch and stare out at the woods and think. It wasn't warm enough yet, but that's what sweaters were for. And friends definitely drank together, even if her glass would be topped off with sweet tea instead of bourbon. 

And if she sat in his lap for a while, so what? Friends with benefits definitely necked on occasion, especially on days when old emotions threatened to sneak in.

"Fuck it," he muttered. "You guys want to go for a walk? See Brownie? See Clarice?"

Seven tails immediately thumped against the ground. He had a key to her house, and Brownie would be happy to see them. He grabbed a pack of steaks from the fridge that he had planned on saving for the weekend and took them along. They had something to celebrate, after all. Another chapter done for him, a new chapter officially starting for her. 

The road was free of cars like it always was, but the walk seemed longer than it usually did. Or maybe he was just impatient to get to her house. He hadn't seen her in a few days; she'd been busy supervising the repairs to her barn, and he'd been intent on focusing on the more difficult chapters of the new book. He still hadn't mentioned Hannibal in any of them, even though he knew that one day he would have to, perhaps even writing a book solely about his ex-lover. But that would be for another time, another year – if he decided to write about it at all. The old wound was one he didn't relish the idea of re-opening, and now that Clarice was…

_Well, what was Clarice?_

They hadn't known each other long enough for the pull to be so strong. Just three months, even if those months had been some of the best ones he could remember, the last month filled with some of the best sex he'd had the pleasure of sharing. She'd appeared in his life as though she'd always been there, like she'd been hovering somewhere in the background, just waiting to surface. And he was glad that she had. She was the closest friend he had these days, perhaps one of the best friends he'd ever had, even if they were sleeping together on those nights when she had an itch that needed to be scratched. 

That morning in the shower, he'd absently wondered what Hannibal would have thought of her, the country girl with the good heart. Smarter than most and more authentic than anyone he'd ever met.

"You'd have hated her, wouldn't you?" he'd murmured. "You'd have mocked her for any of the faults you could find and tried to make her feel so damn small."

But maybe he wouldn't have, at least not before his time at the BSHCI. Before the massacre in his kitchen, before Will's own stint at the hospital, Hannibal had always liked the ones who needed a little polish. Even if she shined bright in the darkness, he would have wanted to dress her up and try to make her his own vision of perfection, even though she was completely perfect on her own.

"God, listen to yourself," he said now, squinting up at the sun. "You would have said that I'm in love. And I'm not. We're just friends, right?"

_Right?_

Her car was in the carport when they got there, and he was so happy that she was home that he almost howled when the dogs started barking. Winston shot ahead, pawing at the door until Clarice opened it, her laughter trickling out into the yard.

"Hey, Winston! I missed you, too. Come on and give me kisses."

"Those should be _my_ kisses," Will muttered, feeling stupidly jealous.

"Brownie, why don't you go outside and show everyone your new house? Go on! Show 'em how big that barn is!"

The dogs ran behind her, out of sight though not out of mind. Will walked up the steps, admiring the view ahead of him. She was dressed in a crisp white shirt that hugged her middle, her bright red skirt floating above her knees. She probably had no clue that half of the students in her classes would be staring at her legs, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. It would be such a shame to hide those legs in a pair of slacks.

"Hey, stranger," she said.

"Hi," he said, kissing her cheek before handing her the steaks. "I thought I might grill these later. I finally finished up the chapter on Mr. Budge."

"I'll put together a little something special to go with them," she said. They walked inside, and she put the steaks on the fridge, her fingers lingering over the handle before she shut the door. "You know, they'll be busy for a while. I put a ton of new toys out there, enough for everyone."

"Did you?"

"I sure did," she said, taking his hand. She placed it on her breast, and he could feel her heart start to race. "And I sure would love it if you'd indulge me in some of those friendly benefits I've been missing. You stayed gone too long, Will."

The caveman in him wanted to throw her over his shoulder and haul her to the bedroom, but it was the gentleman inside who swept her off her feet and carried her there, shutting the door behind them with his foot.


	5. June

Clarice was dreaming about something sweet, but she didn’t remember just what she had been dreaming about after she woke. But she did remember feeling like her mind was being invaded towards the end, the sounds of low moaning filling her sweet world until her eyes popped open in terror. Will was next to her, grabbing his stomach and reaching out for something that wasn’t her. The expression on his face was pure pain, both physical and emotional, and it took her breath away.

It was the first nightmare he’d had since they started sharing a bed, and at first, she wasn’t sure what to do. But Johnny had nightmares after a raid that left his partner in the ICU for a month, and the muscle memory from those times hadn’t left her completely. She let him ride it out until he stopped moving, resisting the urge to shake him until he woke up. He might forget he’d had a bad dream, even if he couldn’t forget the event that he was reliving in his mind. When he was finally still, his breath slowing, and his eyes moving less rapidly, she hesitated only briefly before reaching out for him. Even in sleep, he relaxed with her touch, and she eased him into her arms, holding his head against her chest.

This was something a friend did – offer comfort when needed, even unaware. 

It was a long time before she fell asleep, even though he never woke. She could almost see what he had seen in the nightmare: the insane, impassive man holding the knife and the dying girl lying on the floor, close enough for Will to reach but too far gone for him to save. 

She decided that she hated Hannibal Lecter that night. She wanted to love him as much as Will once had, wanted to respect his sharp intellect and his cunning mind. But she couldn’t find it within her to give him any emotion other than her loathing. Not when he had left so much destruction in his wake and killed the young woman who Will had loved like a daughter.

Love didn’t begin or end in pools of blood. Friendship didn’t involve death and murder and end-game plots. She knew that first-hand, finding it out for herself as her adopted brother lay dying on the ground next to her, reaching for her hand while blood bubbled up from his throat.

“I loved you,” Jame had whispered. “Only you, my darling. Why couldn’t you ever see?”

Clarice didn’t know if it was another lie or the truth, and perhaps it didn’t matter. In the end, it was simply another way to torment her, for he had known that she had killed him. And it was those words that haunted her dreams on the nights when her dreams were like this. She didn’t have visions of blood and death but of brittle, manipulative love that had almost robbed her of the ability to trust.

Little Bit started to squirm. Will’s elbow was firmly planted against her belly, and she pushed it away until they were both comfortable again. Sleep didn’t come easy that night, and it was almost morning until she finally relaxed enough to find rest.

* * *

_“Stop it.”_

Will woke with a start. He was a light sleeper unless the dreams were bad, and he hadn’t felt as haunted by them of late. But the voice next to him was tearful, almost desperate, and he turned to look at Clarice. It wasn’t a nightmare like the ones he was prone to, though it was a nightmare all the same. She started to sob and doubled over on herself, tears falling down her cheeks.

 _“Stop saying that!”_ she moaned, now covering her ears with her hands. 

He was usually the one with nightmares; Molly hadn’t remembered enough of the accident for it to burden her mind, and Hannibal never slept. But he knew enough about them to let her be, even though he wanted to embrace her and wipe the tears from her face.

“Love doesn’t look like this,” she whispered before screaming, _“WHY DID YOU KILL THEM?!”_

Tears welled in his eyes, and he got up, needing to put some space between them. He walked to the window, staring out at the full moon that was still rising in the distance. It was a Strawberry Moon, smaller and dimmer than the Hunger Moon he’d gazed at from the window of Hannibal’s home on Chesapeake Beach. He listened to her cries, each one twisting a knife in him that felt deeper and more painful than any of the ones that had physically entered his body. When she finally shifted back into a place of peace, he looked at the bed. She was shivering, and he cursed lightly as he slid next to her, pulling the quilt over them both. Brownie and Winston were at the bedroom door, ears perked and eyes alert. 

“Come on up,” he said. “She needs all of us.”

The dogs slowly got into the bed with them, Brownie snuggling next to Clarice and Winston lying on her feet. Will held her close, so close that he could feel Little Bit jumping beneath her skin.

He wondered what the baby felt when Clarice dreamed; if the connection they shared was so deep that her nightmares somehow transcended into the tiny mind that grew within her. 

He hoped they didn’t. 

They were both haunted, though in different ways. He’d pulled some articles from the internet about Buffalo Bill over the last couple of months, reading the words that held subtle accusations about Clarice’s wisdom and judgment. Too young to be a detective, too female to understand the male mind, too blind to see what had been hiding in front of her. It had been cruel and wrong, and it had planted seeds of doubt about her abilities to be a good cop, even though she was a great cop who had closed every case on her desk last year. Even this one, though no one had given her any credit for doing so.

Winston wheezed as he fell asleep, coughing a few times before he settled down. He was the last of the original pack that had once roamed around his house, and his time in the world was growing shorter with each day that passed. Will wanted to keep him as long as he humanely could, as long as the old dog was still free from pain. Clarice’s presence had definitely improved him, though it wasn’t the only reason they enjoyed spending time with her.

Will once had a skewed vision of love, of beauty, even of life. Her friendship hadn’t fixed him – years of intense psychoanalysis with a therapist who actually gave a damn about outcomes had helped mend what Hannibal tried to break. But Clarice kept those frayed edges in check, helped him remember what friendship really looked like, even if their friendship often looked and felt a lot like love.

Little Bit started to settle; the jumps less frequent, and the movements slowing. Will finally did something he’d wanted to do since March and settled his head against her belly, kissing the tight skin. Deep inside his own mind, he wanted to know if he could remember the sweetness of innocence if he could listen to that warm place that protected her child. But all he heard was the steady sound of her heart.

He decided that maybe that’s what he’d been looking for, after all.

The world felt right again, and Brownie nudged her nose against his temple when he sighed. He moved further down and kissed a lump that he hoped was the top of a head.

The baby just had the hiccups. 

Clarice’s nightmares held images that only she could see.

Hannibal Lecter and Jame Gumb were dead.

Some things would always be true.

* * *

There was a knock on the door. Clarice and Will were on her sofa: he with his laptop balanced on his knee and she with a textbook in one hand while the other had worked its way into his jeans. They stared at each other, then at the dogs, both counting until they reached the number eight. Will put his laptop on the coffee table and stood, zipping up his pants as he walked to the door and opened it. Jack Crawford stood on the other side, large and looming though a curiously kind expression stretched across his own scarred face.

“Jack,” Will said.

“Do you want to come in?” Clarice asked.

“Please,” Jack said.

Will stood back and let him in, leaving the door open to catch the breeze. 

“I went to your house first,” Jack said. “I was surprised that you weren’t there.”

Will shrugged. “I’m over here more often than not.”

“Do you want to stay for lunch?” Clarice asked. “I was going to make some sandwiches. Nothing fancy, but –”

“Thank you, Clarice. You’re very kind to offer such hospitality.”

“I’ll get started on them,” she said. She tried to get up from the low sofa but struggled to find her balance, and Will was quick to come to her side and help hoist her up.

“How much longer do you have?”

“Two more months. I’m going to be a whale before it’s all over,” she giggled, patting Will’s chest before leaving the room.

Jack sat in the armchair by the door, carefully studying Will as he sat down on the couch. 

“What?” Will asked.

“Nothing.”

Winston and Knox sniffed the air and left the room, their nails clicking on the hardwood floor as they trotted towards the kitchen. 

“She must be cutting roast beef. They all –“

The rest of his dogs lifted their heads and followed the canine leaders of their pack.

“Beg for the scraps.”

Brownie was the last to leave, giving Will a high-pitched yip as she passed him.

“Especially that one.”

“You seem at home here,” Jack said.

“We come by a lot.”

Jack looked around the room, his eyes lingering over a few of the many items that belonged to Will: an old raincoat, an extra pair of reading glasses, a Café Du Monde coffee mug that he was rarely without, and a fishing pole and tackle box. “It sure looks that way.”

“We’re neighbors,” Will said, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “And we’ve become good friends.”

“You’re blushing,” Jack said.

“No, I’m not. It’s just a little warm in here. That’s all.”

Jack shrugged and leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs.

“I’ll be done with the book ahead of schedule.”

“Is that so?”

Will nodded. “I decided to finish it before fall. The baby is due at the end of August. This will be the last one for a while.”

“Have you decided on a name?”

“I should call it _Crackpots_ ,” Will said, unable to hide his sneer and not really wanting to. “But I think I’ll call this one _The Cases that Leave the Deepest Scars_. Especially since the final chapters are about The Red Dragon.”

“I meant a name for the baby,” Jack said.

“Oh. Well, that’s not up to me. And Clarice doesn’t know if it’s a boy or a girl; she doesn’t want to know until the birth.”

“Old-fashioned.”

“A little, but it’s more fun that way,” Will said shyly. “I… _ahhh_ … well, _we_ put together the crib last week. She’s decorated the nursery with a Noah’s Ark theme. Animals everywhere, floor to ceiling. It’ll be hard to keep the dogs out of—”

“Are you happy? You look happy.”

“I guess I am,” Will said. “I’d almost forgotten what happy felt like.”

“How are the nightmares?” Jack asked gently. “They usually get bad whenever you are close to finishing.”

“I haven’t seen the Wendigo in years,” Will said. “And if I have nightmares, I don’t remember them in the morning anymore.”

“That's what I wanted to hear,” Jack sighed.

“Did I pass?”

“It’s not a test.”

“Isn’t it?”

The old friends stared at each other, both seeing past their bullshit and neither caring anymore. 

“She’s good for you.”

“I know.”

“Are you good for her?”

“Probably not, even if she’d disagree.”

“Is she happy?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“That’s all that matters,” Jack said. He sniffed the air too, now smelling the delicious something that had lured the dogs.

“She’s a wonderful cook.”

“I’m aware. She brings me lunch once or twice a week.”

“That's something I didn’t know,” Will said. He shifted on the cushion, looking at his hands when he asked, “You aren’t trying to recruit her, are you?”

Jack laughed. “No, definitely not. She’s never let me, even though I convinced her to attend the National Academy. I traveled through Texas once, years back, when I was still lecturing. I taught a seminar at A&M when she was a freshman and gave her a B minus. She’s never let me forget it.”

“I bet.”

 _“Lunch is ready, boys. Come on and get it!”_ With her voice raised, Clarice caught all of her Texas and Oklahoma roots. They grinned at each other and stood, though when Jack touched his shoulder, Will paused.

“Don’t let her get away,” Jack said quietly. 

“We’re just friends,” Will said.

“That’s what Alana and Margot said about each other at first. And look how happy they are.”

“I’m not worthy of her,” Will said. He cleared his throat a few times and rubbed his eyes, and when Jack patted his back, he didn’t protest. “How could I be? She’s had enough of the monsters. What if I’m –"

“Good people bring out the goodness in others, Will,” he said. “And the monster that held you back is long gone. It’s time for you to live again.”

_“Are you guys gonna sit and gossip like a couple of little girls? Jesus wept.”_

“On second thought…”

Will laughed through his tears and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

Jack patted him one more time before dropping his hand. “Let’s eat before she decides to give our scraps to the dogs.”

“Okay,” Will said, heaving in a calming breath. _“We’re coming, honey!”_

“Friends call each other honey?” Jack said with a wry snort.

“Shut up.”


	6. July

“Do friends go to doctor’s appointments with each other?” Clarice asked.

They were in bed together at her house. Her sheets were pale yellow and dotted with little daisies, making Will look like he was in a field of flowers. He’d been spending every night there, just in case she needed him, and not just for sex. She’d gotten so big that she was shy about her body, even though he was always more than eager to take care of her.

“I think they do,” he said.

“I’m scheduled for another ultrasound next week. I thought that maybe you'd like to see the baby in real-time.” Little Bit was rolling around, doing flip flops while there was still enough room, and they were both watching her stomach shake. "

“I’d be honored to go with you,” he said, his voice pitching down, letting her know how pleased he was.

“We need to be there at ten next Friday. Her office is in Baltimore.”

“Which clinic?”

“One at Hopkins. Dr. Smith wants me to see a specialist for the delivery. I’m a geriatric pregnancy, whatever that means.”

“It means you waited until the time was right.”

“Or maybe the right time waited for me.” She scooted closer to him and traced a scar on his stomach, the big one that Hannibal Lecter gave him. There were others, ones that were less gruesome and with less meaning, but this was the worst, and the one she’d been the most terrified of when she first saw it.

It didn’t scare her anymore; none of them did. She first thought they were like the cracks in his house, surrounding a neglected home. But the more she got to know him, the more she realized that he did care for himself, even if it wasn’t the way she took care of herself.

Will had his own little habits, like spending time on the porch when the memories were too much to take and going on long walks with the dogs on the mornings after he had trouble sleeping. But he was always better when he came back, and those times didn’t mean he cared about her or himself any less. She had her own versions of self-care, even if they involved cooking and taking long baths. It didn’t mean she was well or that he wasn’t. Just meant that they were different, and she didn’t mind that they were, though she was learning to take walks too, and Will was learning how to cook.

“You’re thinking about something. You always get reflective when you touch that one.”

“I guess I do,” she admitted. “I was thinking about your house.”

“You and my house.”

“I can’t help it. I like fixin’ stuff up.”

“I can tell. You’d never know how run-down your place was when you bought it.”

“Didn’t take much with the right contractor. Fresh paint, a little drywall. New floors.”

“Move-in ready.”

“It was by the time I got here.”

“Clarice… I’m not another project, am I?”

“No,” she said, startled. “I like you as you are, Will. Always have. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. You do you. I liked the grumpy Gus from February; I still like him when he comes out to play. Why do you ask?”

“I guess I feel different than I did then.”

“What do you mean?”

He put his hand over hers, holding it over his heart. “I never had anything to look forward to before you moved here, except for Jack’s check-ins. And I don’t always like those.”

“I can tell,” she said. “Do you look forward to seeing me?”

“Now that I see you all the time, I look forward to every morning. Every night. All the moments in between.”

“I do too. I like having you here. It doesn’t seem like the dogs really care where they are, as long as you and I are close by,” she said. Clarice decided to stop avoiding the question that they were both trying to ask each other. “Do friends live together?”

“They do on TV. Seems like there was a whole show about it.”

“You know what I mean.” She pinched his side, just enough to make him squirm. “I’ve got more than enough room for you and me and the baby. Why don’t you move in?”

“What if you meet someone?”

She shrugged. “What if _you_ meet someone?”

“I don’t want anyone.”

“Me neither.”

“Well, okay then,” he said. “I’ll move the rest of my stuff over tomorrow.”

“Not the chair.”

“Especially the chair.”

That was one thing she might fix up, but it wouldn’t take too much effort. She tilted her head back and smiled to herself, already making plans.

“And it stays like it is, too.”

_That’s what he thinks._

_“Clarice...”_

* * *

“Clarice, are you ready?” Dr. Wyman asked.

“I think so,” she said. She lifted her shirt and shivered when the doctor rubbed the cool gel on her stomach. Out of instinct, Will grabbed her hand and squeezed, and Clarice looked at him gratefully.

“Sorry. The warmer quit working this morning.”

“It’s not that bad.”

There was a screen above them. At first, there was nothing on it except Clarice’s name, her legal name: Clarice Brigham. But when Dr. Wyman pressed the wand to her belly, the screen came alive, a foot moving in and out of focus.

“So that’s what keeps you in the bathroom half the night,” Will chuckled.

“Hey there, baby,” Clarice whispered.

The pure sweetness in her voice made Will tear up, and he watched the monitor with fascination as the doctor measured a spine and legs, going over all the chambers of the heart and the brain. Everything was normal, and when the baby’s profile came into view, a few tears fell onto his cheeks.

“It’s okay, Will. Most dads stay tough until this part.”

He opened his mouth, about to say he wasn’t the father, but Clarice squeezed his hand hard. He glanced at her, and she looked so happy that he closed his mouth and smiled too.

“I’ll change this to a 4D view so you can get a better idea of what he or she looks like.”

The screen flickered, and the profile turned into a colorless face. The baby already had Clarice’s nose and lips, though the eyes and chin must have been Johnny’s. Her hand gripped his even tighter, and her breath hitched.

“So pretty.”

“Or handsome,” Will murmured.

_“Beautiful.”_

Will nodded, remembering when he once thought death owned that word. But looking at the screen, and at the baby that had just put a hand in their mouth… He amended his thoughts on that word forever.

“Do you want to know the sex?”

“I know I said I didn’t, but...” She glanced at Will.

“It’s your decision. If you’re ready to know, let’s find out.”

“I think I do," she admitted, then started giggling. "To hell with surprises, I’m ready to monogram all those onesies.”

“Southern women and your monograms.”

“It’s our first signature,” she giggled.

“Clarice, I’m almost there if you want to know.”

“Yes. Show me – I’m ready.”

“Hang on just a second… here we go. Your little one is cooperative.” A little bottom appeared on the screen, along with a few obvious anatomical features.

“You’re going to have a boy. Congratulations!”

“Well, hot damn, Johnny. You’ve got a son.” Her voice was hushed, and she grabbed a tissue from the table next to them. “You mean I’ve been growing a penis inside me all this time, and I didn’t even know it? That’s a thing to miss.”

Will started laughing, and he leaned over and kissed Clarice’s forehead. “God, I love you.” He froze when he heard the words leave his lips, and he looked at Clarice nervously. Her eyes left the monitor, and she now looked only at him.

“Do you mean it?”

He nodded, swallowing loudly. “I know it’s too soon, and that I’m –“

She put a hand over his mouth and said, “ _Shhh_. I love you too. And you better kiss me again. Like right now, before you ruin it.”

He happily obliged her, kissing her until the doctor cleared her throat.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Have you thought of a name?”

“I have,” Clarice said. “Edward Johnathan Brigham.”

“That’s so distinguished.” The doctor handed her a towel, and Clarice wiped the gel from her stomach. Will had to look away again because the damn tears were back, and this time he didn’t fight them. “I’ll have our radiologist look at these, but everything looks good from what I can see. I want you back next week, and we’ll go over everything and do some lab work. You’re free to go after you get cleaned up.”

Dr. Wyman left, leaving Clarice and Will alone. She sat up and used the clean part of the towel to wipe his face.

“Edward is my middle name,” he said.

“I know.”

“I might let you down, honey. It’s happened before.”

“I ain’t a chicken, and I’m not going anywhere, even if you do. I love you too damn much to let you go.”

“Promise?”

She nodded and touched his face. “I promise.”

He cleared his throat and tried to smile, but he couldn’t seem to organize his expression. She put a lot of faith in him, probably the same amount of faith she’d put in Jame Gumb. If he were a betting man, probably the amount of faith he’d always put in Hannibal to do the worst thing possible. He touched her face, his fingertip covering the spot of gunpowder that the French would have called courage. Courage she had, to want to raise a child in the world alone, to have raised her gun and killed the man who had been her friend and to take Will on, even though she knew every aspect of his past.

“You ready to go home?” he asked.

“Yep. Let’s go home.”

* * *

He was quiet on the drive back, so quiet that Clarice’s eyes got heavy before they left Baltimore. The world was green and bright once they got back to the country, the air shifting back to a clean, fresh fragrance as soon as he turned onto the rural roads.

“You awake?”

Clarice nodded and yawned. They were pulling into the drive at her house – their house – and the dogs were barking inside. “I guess we’ll have to tell Brownie she’s going to have a brother.”

“ _Ehhh_ … maybe not just yet.”

“What did you have in mind? You’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“I have. Let’s go in.”

She stretched and got out of the car, following him into the house. The dogs flew out the door, ready to burn off their extra energy from being cooped up half the day.

“I couldn’t have planned that any better,” he said and turned to her, kissing her until her knees went weak. “I know you don’t feel as sexy or confident as you did earlier this year. For the record, I’ve never thought that being with you was a pity fuck. You are the most beautiful woman on the fucking planet. I thought so when you were twenty-eight, when I had an inconvenient infatuation with my student. I still think so every time I lay eyes on you.”

 _“Well, damn,”_ she whispered when his mouth moved to her neck. “How long have you been making love to me, Will?”

“Since April, more or less.” The blue blouse she’d put on that morning landed on the floor next to them, and Will licked his lips when his fingers went to the hooks of her bra. “I don’t have many moves. You know them all and taught me a few I never even thought of. But I want to make you feel loved instead of fucked.”

“I never felt fucked. Well, I take that back. I felt gloriously and deliciously fucked, but in the best way. Fucking loved, lovingly fucked.”

“You and your mouth are making me as hard as granite.” He grabbed her wrist and slipped her hand into the front of his jeans. Clarice squeezed and held on tight, unzipping him to let things fill out even more. “I never in a million years thought I’d be so close to fifty and feel as… _ungh_ … oh... _fuck_...”

“Do you like that?”

He panted and nodded. “But if you want full-service, I need to get you in bed.”

“Deal,” she said. He whined a little when she let him go, sounding a little too much like Winston, and he followed closely behind her, unable to stop fondling her breasts. “What kind of full-service do _you_ want? Me on top?”

He nodded eagerly and undressed, laying on the bed and watching her as she removed the rest of her clothes. Clarice put on a show like she always did when that expression was on his face, or as much as she could with her limited flexibility.

“One day soon, I’m going to show you all the moves I learned in that pole-dancing class I took at the gym back in Texas.”

Will groaned. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to come right now.”

She laughed and slid next to him in the bed, her mouth finding his. Friends definitely didn’t kiss with tongues and grope each other until the room was filled with loud gasps, but fuck it. They passed friendship a long time ago, even if it took them a while to catch up with the terminology change.

Lovers held each other like this, murmuring words of devotion to their partner as they were worshipped with mouths and hands. And lovers took the time to check emotions, needing to know that it hadn’t gotten too intense when the tears inevitably came. And lovers definitely held in each other during the afterglow they shared, nude and glistening with sweat while the afternoon sun poured in from the window, and they sure as shit kept whispering those words of adoration even after the dogs started pawing at the back door.

“Do friends get married?” Will asked, absently caressing her arm.

“Sometimes they do,” Clarice said, hiding her grin against his chest. “Especially friends like us.”

“Good to know.”


	7. August

It was the little things that made the world seem like it might finally be alright. Getting an advance on a new book that would pay the bills for another couple of years, more if they were careful. Watching the sunset behind the line of trees in the backyard with a beer on one knee and while the hand of his beloved sits on the other. And sometimes, watching the woman he loved give birth to the child Will had come to think of as his own.

The idea of a family was something Will had given up after the long talks he’d had with Molly after being released from the inpatient psych unit. There were no bars on his doors during that admission, though there might as well have been. He wasn’t allowed to leave until he stopped trying to pull the stitches from his face and arms, for the grief of losing Hannibal while he had lived was too much to live with. 

Will’s design had been to die in the sea with him, not wash ashore next to his broken body. 

Molly had been patient at first, in those few days he spent with her at Jack’s vacation home on the Outer Banks after he was released. But in the end, there was nothing left for either of them. There had been too much left unsaid during their marriage, and her real sense of betrayal was enough to end it for good. As much as she’d tried to understand him in the year they’d had together before Francis Dolarhyde; she no longer wanted to even attempt understanding the rest. And he couldn’t blame her, not after what he’d put her and her son through. The worse thing about it, he wasn’t even that upset when she tossed her wedding ring at him before she walked out of the door.

Clarice didn’t want a ring at first, not after having one of her own tossed at her when she came home from being processed at the station. Jame’s blood was still wet in her hair while Johnny lit into her for being a ‘stupid little girl,’ not fit to carry her gun or her badge. After a long shower, she’d slept on their sofa bed and kept sleeping there even after their own long talks that always ended in Johnny walking to the bar a few blocks away. 

On her finger, instead of a gold band, was Will’s class ring from college. Her hands were so swollen that it fit, and the ring that matched his would be sized later. The dark blue stone glinted in the surgical lights of the operating suite, where she lay with her arms stretched out on either side of her and strapped down to the table.

“This is the first and last time you’ll see me restrained, so you better enjoy it while it lasts, bucko,” Clarice whispered. She was nervous, and so was he for that matter, but when nerves got the best of her, her mouth was so much fun.

“I’m going to enjoy it, but not for the reason you think,” he whispered back.

“ _Ahhh_ , so you do want to use those –“

“No,” he said quickly and resisted the urge to put a hand over her mouth.

“Uh-huh,” she said knowingly.

“Clarice, can you feel this?”

“Feel what?”

Dr. Wyman nodded to her staff. “Let’s begin. Mark the time, and let us know if you feel anything, okay Clarice?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Clarice said, blowing at a strand of hair that had gotten loose from her surgical cap. 

Labor had started that morning, suddenly when her water broke while they were out for a walk. It was a few weeks early, but still late enough to be a term delivery. And despite everyone’s best effort, the baby was breech and had stubbornly decided that he would not move. The cesarean was not something they had planned for, and Will was that much more thankful that she had wisely decided to start her teaching position in the spring instead of the fall. 

“If you want to look behind the curtain, you can,” Clarice said.

“Not a chance,” Will said. “A few things should remain mysterious, don’t you think?”

“Then I guess Dr. Wyman will be the only one who gets to see what my uterus looks like.”

“You’re about to feel a lot of pressure. Don’t be afraid.”

Will’s eyes didn’t leave Clarice’s face. He could tell something had changed, another one of those secret things that only she was aware of, and then the sound of a baby’s cry filled the room.

“Still a boy,” Dr. Wyman laughed. “Will, do you want to cut the cord?”

“Yes,” he said, squeezing Clarice’s hand one more time before standing. He took the scissors from the nurse and looked at Ed Brigham for the first time. He had a strong jaw, quivering in the midst of his upset over being removed from Clarice’s body, and his eyes were wide open, accusing Will along with the rest of the world of being responsible for the abrupt change in his situation. Will cut between the clamps where the doctor pointed, and the boy was free from his mother. A nurse took him, rubbing him down with towels and placing him on a scale. 

“Eight pounds, seven ounces,” the nurse said. “It’s a good thing he decided to come early, Clarice. You’d have been carrying a ten-pounder otherwise.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Clarice said. 

Will watched the process, overseeing the events even though he was a spectator in the theater. He felt a fierce sense of protectiveness surge through him, something that had begun from the moment Clarice stepped out of her car in February and had continued to grow.

“Can I see him?” Clarice asked.

“Here you go, dad,” the nurse said. She wrapped him up and handed him to Will. “It’ll be a while before they finish closing your wife.” She guided him back to the chair and helped him sit, and he held the little bundle close to her face. 

Clarice peered at him, her arms struggling against the restraints before she sheepishly smiled. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“It happens all the time.”

“He’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen,” Clarice whispered. “Hey, sweetie. I’m your momma. Do you recognize my voice?”

Unfocused eyes moved to the sound, and a tiny pink tongue emerged from a rosebud mouth. 

“It would seem that he does,” Will said.

“I love you, little man. Do you know that?” She stretched her neck and kissed a plump cheek, nuzzling against the chubby folds of his neck.

“Mrs. Graham, I’ll get him bathed. The pediatrician needs to check him over and listen to his lungs.”

Will looked down at the baby. Ed looked back up at him, seeing him yet not seeing him. His eyes were so blue, almost like his own. “Can we have him back soon?”

The nurse laughed. “Of course, you can. Just give us a few more minutes.”

He carefully passed the baby to her, supporting his head and back. The nurse took him back to a warmer where a doctor in blue scrubs waited. 

“Hey,” Clarice said.

He turned to her and smiled. “Hey back. Are you hurting anywhere?”

“Nope. It feels like I don’t even have feet. You should try it sometime.”

Will laughed and leaned down to her, kissing her lightly. “He’s so adorable.”

“Handsome little thing,” she said. “Just like Johnny was.”

“Do you think his daddy would be proud?”

“You tell me, Will,” she said. His face was still close to hers, and she touched her forehead to his. “Johnny’s not his daddy, not in the ways that matter. Ed has someone else who should have that title.”

“Are you sure?”

“Damn right, I am,” she said. “And he’s gonna have a long-assed last name too, longer than those pompous boys I’ll be teaching next year. Ed Brigham-Graham, if that’s okay with you.”

He took a breath, then took another. It was tempting to hyperventilate, but he slowed his breathing back to normal before he spoke. “I couldn’t be prouder to call him my son.”

* * *

“Son of a damn –“

Will looked at her over his glasses and cleared his throat. “Little pitchers, honey.”

“Well, how would you feel if you had a leech trying to suck your nipple off?” Clarice said, groaning as Ed latched to the other side. It hurt like hell, and for the last two weeks, she’d felt no better than a dairy cow. She leaked milk constantly, her breasts were as sore and full as udders, and every time he nursed, her abdomen cramped so bad that she felt the need to burst into tears.

“Do you want to keep at it?” Will said. He sat his book on breastfeeding down and scooted closer to her in their bed, placing an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, her muscles relaxing a little.

“Yeah, I want to,” she said. “I just never dreamed it would be so hard.”

“What can I do to help?”

“This,” she said. “Just listen. Be here when I get frustrated with it all.”

“That I can do. What else?”

“Bring me the brownies in the kitchen when he’s done?”

“I can do that, too. How many?” 

“All of them,” she said without shame.

“Consider it done.”

“Thank you,” she yawned, looking down at Ed. His little brows were drawn together, his face so stern that it always made her smile through the pain. He was a serious nurser, which helped things. Every two hours, he woke hungry, ate until he was full, and fell asleep like a dream. There was so little to complain about that she felt bad about griping about her damn boobs. 

She must have dozed. When she opened her eyes, the baby was back in the bassinette, and she had a plate of brownies on her nightstand. Will was looking at a tube of lanolin, his own brows knitted together just like the baby’s as he read the instructions. 

“I didn’t mean to nod off,” she said. She grabbed a brownie and gobbled it down in two bites.

He shrugged. “You’re tired. This is why I finished the book early. I thought it might take some extra hands.”

She reached for the tube. Her bra was undone on the right, and she needed to apply the soothing balm. But Will just shook his head and dotted his fingers with the lanolin.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Helping, I hope,” he said and gently swiped his fingers over her nipples. It wasn’t as miserable as when she did it, for she tended to be rough with herself in the desire to get it over with. But this actually felt nice, and when he was done, she sighed happily. “Better?”

She nodded.

He took a nursing pad and placed it inside her bra before he fastened it, and he lifted the loose tank top back up. 

“Thank you,” she said.

“Just worry about the hard part from now on. I’ll take care of the rest until it gets better,” he said. “And if it doesn’t, I’ll keep taking care of it. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said. She giggled and spat in her hand, holding it out to him. “You want to shake on it?”

He laughed and shook his head. “But I’ll take a kiss to seal the deal if you’re up to it.”

“I think I might be,” she said. He took his place next to her on the bed and kissed her, just enough to let her feel the heat that always simmered between them. It would be a while before the fire could return, even if she even wanted to when the doctor gave the okay. But this was just right, and she kissed him back, slipping a hand inside his shirt though it stayed north of the border of his boxers. “Are you okay with this for a few more weeks? Just kissing?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “My hand and I are old friends.”

She giggled and kissed him again before resting her head against his chest. “If I can get a few more hours of sleep, I might re-introduce you to my old friendly hand. Tit for tat, quid pro quo.”

“And I might take you up on that, but only when you’re feeling better.”

“Deal,” she said. “Do you want to kiss on that one, too?”

“Yep,” he said. Their lips met again, the heat sizzling a little more. It must have been from pure habit, but Will’s hand slipped beneath her shirt to squeeze a breast, and a shot of pain went through her, along with the sting of humiliation that came when she leaked through her bra.

“Sorry,” she said. She was close to tears and might have started crying, except for the kind man who held her. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said.

“I know, but… I guess I’m not used to feeling so out of control when it comes to my body.”

“Do you want me to get you a fresh… _ahhh_ … a fresh everything?”

“Just a towel. I read an article on the internet that says airing them out might help,” she said.

He went to the linen closet in the bathroom and grabbed one, bringing it back to the bed as she took off her bra and top. She placed it underneath her and rolled to the side, facing him. Her breasts were never large, and they weren’t huge now, but they had a remarkable feeling of fullness and being something more than they had been before Ed’s birth. Her nipples were darker, now a deep rose and the cool air against them did help ease the ache. Will was curious about this, as he was curious about everything, and he traced a heavy vein close to her areola with the tip of his finger.

“Did your mother breastfeed you?” she asked.

“I doubt it,” he said. “I don’t remember her. She left when I was a few months old.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I never thought I’d have a family, not like this.” He sighed and looked over her shoulder at the sleeping baby. “It’s hard to believe that I’ve gotten a second chance. I’m scared I’m doing everything wrong.”

“So am I, but about myself,” she said. “I never had a father, and my mom died when I was six. But I was lucky to have some good role models along the way.”

“I’m not sure I had any, other than Molly and you.” He didn’t speak Molly’s name very often, but at least the edge of bitterness had morphed into peace.

“What about Jack?”

“My pushy older brother?” he said with a snort. “Maybe.”

“And Dr. Lecter?”

Will’s hand froze, and his eyes darted away from her face. “I don’t like to think of him as one.”

“But you’ve admitted he had some good qualities in him,” she challenged. “He might have wanted to own you, but it seems like he was a loving man in his own terrible way.”

“You’re being kind about him tonight.”

“You haven’t had a nightmare in a while. My opinion will change like the tides the next time you do. Seeing you during one makes me want to wring his fucking neck.”

His eyes settled back on her face, the edges of them crinkling when he smiled. “You sound like my champion.”

“I’m your wife. I hope I am.”

“You are,” he said. Warm lips met hers, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the simple intimacy. But she must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew, Ed was fussing. She opened her eyes. Will was still facing her, holding her hand in sleep. His eyes fluttered open when she squeezed it, and he stretched.

“Did I fall asleep while we were kissing?”

“Sort of,” he said.

“Damn,” she said. “I was enjoying that.”

“We’ll pick up where we left off.” He got up and changed the wet diaper while she wiped the dried milk from her breasts and settled against the pillows behind her. She felt a little better, and when he brought the little munchkin to her, latching on wasn’t as painful.

“I guess that helped,” she said. “Sage advice from the mommy boards.”

He watched them for a while, holding her close as he had before, and he kissed her temple. “I like this. He can see both of us while he eats.”

“It’s when he’s the most alert,” she said. “That’ll change pretty soon, and he’ll be this whole other person who wants to know more about the world that exists beyond my breasts. Though I don’t know if much changes.”

There was a breath against her forehead, and she could feel him shake with his restrained laughter.

“You know it’s true.”

“Maybe.”

“Come on,” she said. “Admit it. Before Ed was born, your favorite place was right where he is.”

“ _Shhh_ ,” he said, hiding her head against her neck as he started to laugh out loud.


	8. September

The dogs sat in a line in front of the couch. For the first time in their lives, they'd been relegated to the title of 'pet' instead of 'child,' and none of them had been happy about spending the last month outside. Clarice and Will had both taken turns spending time with them and trying to make them feel special, but the truth was that their dogs were ready to resume their place in the house along with them. Will gave each of them a special treat, patiently keeping them in line while Clarice got Ed ready to meet the rest of his family. 

When she walked into the living room, Will turned. So did eight happy heads, and their tails thumped against the ground in a pleasing cadence. Brownie whined, long enough for Will to give her a stern look. She yipped at him and ducked her head towards Winston, who wheezed gently in her direction. They were the only two they'd trusted enough to let inside so far, and they were as in love with the baby as Will and Clarice.

"Hey, ya'll," she said. "Meet the newest member of the pack."

Ed was dressed in a onesie Clarice found online, the fabric a colorful puppy pattern with the words' Little Brother' embroidered on the front. Along with his monogram, of course, the complicated _EBGJ_ taking up a comical amount of room. She sat on the couch next to Will and turned their son around to the group.

"Guys, this is Ed," Will said. He touched the top of the baby's head, cradling the downy skull before quickly kissing the soft spot. Ed was alert for now, his eyes tracking to Will. "Get your sniffs in now."

Six curious noses nudged the bare feet and legs, turning to Will and Clarice before they sat back down in their places. If dogs could shrug, Will could have sworn that they did.

"Is it just me, or are they bored?" he asked.

"You know how sensitive their noses are," Clarice whispered. "I bet they could smell him inside me the whole time. He's old news."

"You may be right," Will murmured. 

Brownie came forward and put her head in Clarice's lap, and Winston eased next to Will and bumped his hand with his nose. 

"Hey, buddy," Will said, scratching his ears. "This changes a lot, but you'll always be my top dog."

"And you'll always be my little lady," Clarice added, grinning when Brownie started licking Ed's feet.

"You guys want to go for a walk?"

Eight thumping tails went into hyperdrive.

"You mind?" he asked.

"Go," she said, shooing them all with her free hand. "It's time for this one to eat, anyways."

"We'll be back," Will said, kissing her before he got up. He walked to the door and opened it, letting the pack out. He looked back in time to catch a glimpse of Clarice and Ed on the couch. It warmed him up inside, seeing her with that loving expression on her face as she spoke to Ed while he nursed. He'd have to take a picture of it to keep with him.

They stayed gone longer than intended, and instead of wanting to come back in, the dogs decided to go out to the barn. The bright afternoon sun had changed to a golden sunset, the light catching in the living room. Will quietly opened the screen door, careful not to disturb Clarice or the baby, who was sleeping in the spare bassinet by the sofa. Clarice was dozing or maybe was fully asleep, judging from her deep breaths. His old button-down shirt was undone in the front, giving him glimpses of her bare breasts. The urge to curl up next to her was intense, and he decided not to resist it when he slipped off his shoes. He laid down on the couch and placed his head in her lap. Her dozy hands went to his head, caressing him in sleep, and she sighed and smacked her lips, turning her body towards his before she was still again.

Will turned his head. His hands went to her shirt, opening it a little more. As much as it pained him to admit it, she's been right when she said that his favorite spot was where Ed spent most of the time. It wasn't anything he'd ever admit out loud, but there was something beyond eroticism about them. It was the comfort and ease, that feeling of being held and loved while he kissed and nipped her breasts that he missed now that they were no longer his alone.

The veins around them were deep blue, somehow enhancing the shocking change to the color of her nipples. He touched one with the pad of his thumb. It was firm in sleep, even more so than after Ed finished eating. It was probably close to time for him to eat again because her breasts were swollen in a way that made his groin respond with a tightening of its own. 

"Stop it," he whispered. But he couldn't seem to stop the desire, especially when a drop of pale milk trickled from her nipple, collecting on his thumb and hand. He brought it to his mouth, tasting sweetness and warmth, all those things that were Clarice. If he'd thought the scent of her hair and skin intoxicating, this might be worse. 

* * *

Clarice woke to the sensation of her breasts letting down, the intense feeling sending a shiver down her spine. But something was different. She cracked her eyes open, seeing Will's head in her lap. His finger was in front of his lips, and he brought it to his mouth, his eyes closing as he sucked her milk from his hand.

The image touched something within her, something deeper than her emotions about motherhood or marriage. From what she knew of his father, she doubted that anyone before Dr. Lecter had fed Will from a place of love. Though her feelings about that man shifted rapidly between affection and hate, she veered to affection, if only for a moment. Even if his methods had been terrible, Hannibal had at least offered Will something he'd desperately needed.

She wondered if she could do the same. His fingers were at her breast again, catching the drops that were becoming a river. It wouldn't end until she applied some pressure to them or affixed a mouth…

She swallowed.

They constantly asked for permission if something they were about to do was something that friends or partners did, even if they knew better. But with this, there was a real question at hand, and it was one she didn't know the answer to: did it really matter what partners did for each other if it might be something they needed or wanted?

She was about to open her eyes fully and bring his head to her breast when the low sound of Ed's fussing came from the bassinet. Will jumped up and straightened her shirt, taking the baby to the coffee table to change his diaper. She tried to feign the act of waking and stretched, grabbing the towel behind her to catch the stream of milk.

"Seems like my body knows before he does," she said.

"I guess so," Will said. He sat next to her and handed her the baby. "Is it still getting easier?"

"Every time," she admitted. She gritted her teeth when Ed latched on, then relaxed when the brief pain subsided. "It's a learning process. Sometimes we get right on the first time; sometimes he doesn't get it in deep enough."

"That's what she said," he said under his breath.

"Ha-ha." But she did laugh, and when he put an arm around her, she snuggled against him. "How are the dogs? They seemed to take it well."

"Oh, they were full of questions," Will said with a little snark. "Maggie wouldn't shut up about how cute Ed is, and Pat asked if he could sleep in the crib."

"Hush."

He laughed and shifted on the cushion, causing her free hand to fall in his lap. It was an accident but feeling the hard heat against her palm made her flush.

"Sorry," he whispered, placing her hand back on her leg. 

"Why?"

He cleared his throat twice before he spoke. "This… _ahhh..._ well..."

"I think I might be up for a little friendly third base action if you are," she said shyly. She raised her eyebrows and put her hand on her leg, inching it up his thigh.

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "It'll be fun to make it all about you for a change, considering how obliging you've been to me."

"I don't know if it's obliging when you're getting just as much from the deal," he said. "Not many men would have said no to an offer of beer, food, and sex."

"Well, when you put it that way," she said, giggling. "Still… it's about you tonight. Whatever you want, you got it. Except for the lady downstairs, she's off-limits until we go to the doctor next week."

"Spaghetti for dinner?"

"I've got sauce in the freezer."

"That cake with the marshmallow stuff under the icing?"

"Hell, yeah."

"Cheap beer?"

"I'll bring it to you naked."

"A hand job?"

Her hand moved up a little more, and she tilted her head high enough to whisper in his ear. "And a blow job, if you're interested."

"Have I mentioned that you're the best thing that ever happened to me?"

"Tell me again, and I'll make homemade ice cream tomorrow. I might even drizzle warm fudge all over my-"

" _Shhh_ ," he whispered, and this time he did put a hand over her mouth. She licked it until he squirmed and moved it away.

"Is it going to be weird, do you think?" Ed had finished one side, and she brought him to her shoulder to burp him. 

"Why would it be?"

"Well," she said, hoping she could somehow touch on what she saw earlier. "I'm… not _me_ , not like I used to me. You'll have to learn my body all over again."

"I guess it's a good thing that I'm a good student," he said.

Ed gave a loud burp, and she lowered him to her other breast. He latched on perfectly to this one, and there was almost no pain when he started to work his jaw.

"Still, I worry about… these," she said, motioning to her breasts, "Getting in the way of… stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Well… I mean, you weren't grossed while we were making out, and you got that bonus handful of milk. What if it happened again, and you accidentally tasted it?"

"Nothing about what you're doing grosses me out," he said quietly. "And if that happens, we'll figure it out."

"Should I wear one of my nursing bras, to kind of –"

"Nope," he said. 

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you want dinner first or –"

"Us first, then food."

"Us?"

He squeezed her shoulder. "Even if some things are off-limits, not everything is. Remember? We just have to be careful."

"And quick."

"Want to make a game of it?"

"No," she said, looking down at Ed and then back up to Will. "I just want to feel close to you. We've spent months learning about bonding with him and how important touch and presence is. Sex and food was how we bonded, and I miss it."

"So have I," he murmured. He held her until Ed finished eating, and she passed the baby to him to rock to sleep.

"Come to the bedroom when he's down," she said. "I want to get ready."

The smile he gave her made her heart flip around in her chest, and she felt so happy that she almost skipped down the hall. There was a box in the back of their closet that contained her pre-pregnancy lingerie, and she opened it, pulling out a lace nightie that screamed 'Take Me Off.' It was snug over her chest and hips, but it wouldn't stay on long enough for him to notice. She brushed her hair and teeth, checking herself out in the mirror when she was done. Everything looked okay, but insecurity spun in her mind. She pulled the gown over her head and stood in front of the mirror behind the bathroom door.

Her belly was full and flabby, with a new scar on her bikini line. She touched the skin, massaging it, almost willing it back into the shape she'd been in a year ago. For some stupid reason, she'd thought it would magically return after Ed was born, and seeing her body in its new form was harder than she'd imagined. 

"But if he thought you were sexy at nine months pregnant, maybe it won't matter," she said to herself. This would be an ongoing battle, marrying the old self with the new, and not one she would win today. Instead, she looked for the things to feel good about: the way the fullness of her hips and breasts made her feel like Marilyn Monroe and finally being flexible enough to do some things with Will that they'd never done before. She took a breath and nodded to herself, putting the nightie back on and walking out into the bedroom. The bed wasn't made, which was fine with her. She scooted to the middle, arranging herself in a seductive pose just as the door opened.

"Wow," Will said, pulling at his collar. "You look… Wow."

"You want to come here and tell me that?"

"Huh?" he said. His mouth was open, and a little drool was collecting at the corner.

"Get naked," she said in a dramatic stage whisper.

"Right," he said, still appearing a little stunned as he pulled his shirt over his head and unbuttoned his jeans. He kicked them off, almost tripping on them before sitting on the bed.

They stared at each other, Clarice a little shy as she placed her hand on his bare chest. 

"Kiss me," she whispered.

He lunged forward, holding her hands above her head as he devoured her mouth. She was flat on her back, his body pressed against hers. The weight of him was something new; before, they'd always been so careful, even in their most passionate moments. Even though the pressure of his hips against her scar was uncomfortable, she didn't stop him from rubbing against her. She met him kiss for kiss, the hunger she felt unfurling when she tugged her hands free, slipping them down to his ass, squeezing him hard. Her short nails dug into his skin, but if he noticed, he didn't care, his mouth and tongue too busy dancing with hers. 

His hands went to the hem of her nightie, slipping it up, up, up until they moved away from each other long enough for her to pull it over her head. Then there she was, naked in front of him and nervous as he looked at her breasts and belly. He kissed her navel, his mouth making a line up to the valley of her chest, kissing the edge of the round curves to the sides. She could feel it happening even before she saw the drops running free, and she tensed, watching for his reaction. His expression was bemused as he glanced at her nipples, then at the milk.

"Do you want to—?"

"Can I—?"

They stared at each other, and Clarice nodded, placing her hand on his back as he leaned forward and licked.

"How does it taste?" she asked. 

"I can't explain it," he said. "It tastes of you. Like…" He fixed his lips to her nipple and sucked it into his mouth.

 _Fuck_.

It sure didn't feel like this was Ed drank from her, and she gritted her teeth in a new way when Will sucked a nipple deep inside his mouth, pressing lip covered teeth together. The moan that escaped from her throat was wild, and she couldn't temper it, nor did she want to. Not when this felt so good, not when there was some deep satisfaction within her that she could give him something Dr. Lecter could never have offered: love in every form, even from this. He looked up at her with hazy eyes, letting go of her nipple.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No," she whispered. "It feels good. Different."

"Clarice, do spouses–"

She placed a finger over his lips. "It doesn't matter. It could be what we do."

"Are you sure?"

She placed her hand behind his head and held him close, trying to surround him with a cocoon of her love. His body relaxed completely when he started to suck. 

* * *

After a pretty perfect hour in the bedroom, they were in the kitchen, Clarice heating some frozen sauce and boiling water as the cake baked in the oven. Will slipped behind her and hugged her close.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" 

"For being you."

She leaned against him, sated from the orgasm he'd given her with his mouth as well as the pleasure from everything else. She felt powerful and strong, and she didn't want it to end so soon.

"Do you think you'd want to do that again?" she asked.

"Which part?"

"Well, blowing you while you went down on me was pretty fucking awesome," she said. "But… everything. What we did before that?"

He was quiet for a moment, kissing her neck before he spoke. "Is it something you'd be okay with?"

"Yeah," she said softly. "I might even… well, there's enough milk in the deep freeze already to feed Ed for weeks. If he got a bottle once in a while, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Maybe you could feed him if you wanted to, get to bond with our little man."

"I'd like that," he admitted.

"Why don't you get one of the bottles and put it in the fridge to thaw?"

He did just that, grabbing a beer from the back. "Can I fix something while we're in here?"

"Ain't nothing to fix in this house, Will," she said. 

"Huh?"

"If you want to fix something, we can start with that crack in your kitch–"

"No, not the house," he said. He reached in his pocket and brought out a box that held her newly sized wedding ring. He opened it and placed the band on her bare finger. "That's better."

She looked down at her hand. Instead of their initials or a date, they'd inscribed the inside of their rings with a message: _'No Takebacks.'_ Neither of them had a good arm anyway, except for fishing. 

"No takebacks," she said.

"No takebacks," he agreed.


	9. October

The air was just starting to change; summer heat turning dry, the humid breezes shifting to the beginning of cool autumn. When Jack’s black sedan pulled up the drive, Will was sitting on the porch with Winston, giving his neck a good scratch while the rest of the dogs rushed to the car. Will didn’t stop them. It was too much fun watching Jack try not to trip over the excited animals.

“Will,” Jack said, taking off his hat.

“Hey, Jack,” Will said. He motioned to the chair next to him. “I’d invite you in, but I got kicked out an hour ago.”

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”

“Hardly. Clarice is making a special dinner, and she wanted it to be a surprise. You want a drink?”

“Sure.” 

Will opened the cooler between them and showed him the offerings: PBR, bottled water, and a few soda cans. Jack chose a beer and popped the top, settling back awkwardly in the Adirondack chair.

“How’s married life?” Jack asked.

“Amazing. I never thought it could be like this,” Will admitted. “I was so careful before, with Molly. I never really let her in, even when I thought I did. Clarice is…”

“You were fortunate to have found her.”

“Yeah,” Will said, grinning. “Yeah, I was. Or maybe she found me. Either way, I’m glad.”

“What about fatherhood?”

“My son,” he said, that grin deepening. 

“That tells me everything.” Jack took a sip of beer and smiled too. “Do you think you might have another?”

“Probably not the best idea,” Will said, the smile fading as his eyes clouded with memory. “Did I ever tell you that Hannibal said I shouldn’t breed?”

“Really?”

Will nodded. “Too big a risk to spread my bad genes amongst the world.”

“Will,” Jack said, setting his drink down on the cooler. “What he said tells me more about him than it does about you. You know that, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Breeder is a derogatory term, depending on who speaks it and how it’s spoken. He was toying with you about your physical relationship with him. Just like he always did.”

“That son of a bitch,” Will muttered.

Jack shrugged. “Did you expect anything different?”

“I guess not.” Will glanced at Jack. “Do you think that if we did have another child, that it would be like me or–”

“Nothing is certain in this world. But it shouldn’t keep you from holding back. If anything, being Clarice has helped you see that.”

Will stood and walked to the edge of the porch, looking down at the six-inch drop between wood and dirt. Not even a jump. He stepped down to the yard and turned, looking back at Jack. 

“Maybe you could be a godfather,” Will said. “To Ed.”

Jack straightened in the chair. “I’d be honored.”

“And… if there was another?”

“All the better,” Jack said.

Will nodded and looked out at the land. If he squinted, he could almost see his old house in the distance. But he didn’t look for it. Instead, he looked out at the new barn and saw the boat he was working on. Maybe one day, they’d take it sailing. At least, that was the plan, but didn’t plans have a way of never working out? Except… sometimes they did. That boat _would_ sail one day, his little family in life jackets as he and Clarice stood behind the wheel.

“What are you looking at?” Jack asked.

“A future,” Will said. 

“You never thought you had one, did you?”

“Not even in the best circumstances, no.”

“You know, you should write about it. When you’re ready,” Jack said. “I think everyone has had enough of someone else telling your story. It might be worth giving it a shot.”

“Maybe,” Will murmured. “But it's easier to think of me as an old drunk, hiding out in my house or even in Florida, depending on who's telling the tale."

"Like Freddie?"

Will shrugged. "Who wants to read about a man who went a little crazy a few times, just to find happiness at the end of all the madness?”

“I think a lot of people would. You went through something unique, but it’s not so different than what other people endure. Not at the heart of it. And doesn't everyone want a happy ending?”

“Hey, Jack,” Clarice said, popping her head out of the door. “Glad you could make it.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” he said.

“It’s ready.”

She was nervous. Her voice shook a little under the bravado, and her hands were too busy touching the rag in her hand. Will walked back to the house and touched her arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Well, you’ll see in a minute.”

“Did something burn?”

“Shit, no! I’m not that careless. I just…” She looked at Jack. “Did you say yes?”

“I did,” Jack said.

She nodded and blew out a breath. “I wanted to make something fancy since we were asking Jack to be Ed’s godfather. I just hope ya’ll like it. It’s not what I normally make, and –”

“It’ll be great.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, kissing her gently. “You look beautiful.”

She looked down at her new dress, no longer maternity but a size or two larger than her pre-baby clothes. A wrap dress is what she’d called it, and the teal blue color made her eyes take on the color of the sea. 

“Thank you,” she said. “Let’s go in before the food gets cold. I hope you brought your appetite, Jack. I made enough to feed an army, plenty for you to take some home.”

“I’ll do that,” Jack said. 

She opened the door and let Will in, accepting a kiss from Jack when he walked by. She’d set the table with care, placing vases of late-season wildflowers at the center, even pulling out the heavy silver candlesticks that had belonged to Johnny’s grandmother. It was nothing like a table Hannibal would have made if that’s what worried her.

This was better.

Clarice brought in the food and sat at the table, waiting for them. Cabernet braised short ribs, pommes puree that were laced with butter, and broccolini. Will took his spot at the end, and Jack sat next to him. It was familiar yet not familiar, for this was his own table, and the food was made by someone who gave instead of taking, whose gifts weren’t offered with expectation or malice. Jack seemed to sense his thoughts, and he clinked his beer can against Will’s, then clinked it with Clarice’s glass of sweet tea. 

“To new beginnings,” Jack said.

“To new beginnings,” they agreed.

* * *

After Jack left, carrying a few containers of leftovers that Will had grudgingly let him take, they sat on the sofa. Ed was between them, busily nursing, and his parents had their feet on the coffee table while LSU and A&M played ball on the television. Will had to remind Clarice not to yell at the television, though it never seemed to bother Ed when she got excited about the game. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she said. “He’s going to hear it when he gets older.”

“True, but maybe not just yet.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, holding the baby to her shoulder and peeking down at him. “But if your first words are _Geaux Tigers_ , we’ll have to have a chat. Yes, we will.”

“And if your first words are _Gig’em_ , you and I will have a man-to-man conversation,” he said, giving his finger for Ed to hold.

“At least we can agree that he’ll never say _Woo Pig Sooie_.”

Will shuddered and took a drink.

“Hey. _Hey!_ Do you need new glasses or a swift kick in the –“

“Clarice.”

“Kick in the howdy doody,” she sighed. “This is going to be hard.”

“You’ll learn. So will I, for that matter. Just wait until basketball season starts, then you’ll see my heckles rise.”

“Not a big football fan?”

“I didn’t say that,” Will laughed. “I got out of the habit. Not as much fun without someone to watch it with.”

“Do you like watching it with me?”

“I think I do. Just don’t make any of those weird hand motions you learned in school, and I’ll be fine.”

“Some of my hand motions make you feel pretty fine,” she teased.

“Are you offering?” he asked.

“After the game,” she said. “If you’re game.”

“What about a touchdown?”

“I think that could be arranged.” Ed started nipping on her shoulder, and she moved him down to her other breast. “Supper must have made my milk taste good. Do you like the short ribs, too?”

“I wouldn’t complain if you made them again. There’s no need to be nervous about cooking new things.”

“I know,” she said. “I wanted it to be nice, but nice means Dr. Lecter, somewhere in my mind.”

“He wasn’t always so…”

“Uppity?”

He laughed. “He used to eat crackers and jam over the sink if there wasn’t enough time to make breakfast.”

“Really?”

“It wasn’t all fine dining and high thread count sheets, honey. He was just a man. A bat-shit crazy bastard of a man,” he amended. “But still a man. Nothing to be afraid of anymore, not a memory to honor or one to keep you from honoring people the way you feel you should.”

“Would you feel different if he was alive?” she asked quietly.

“Maybe,” he said honestly. 

“I’d like to visit his grave,” she said. “I have some things I want to say to him.”

“Like what?”

“Well, that’s between Dr. Lecter and me. This may sound weird, but I want to thank him.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“For saving you,” she said. “For all the times he tried to kill you, he saved you in equal measures, and that should be honored. Maybe the life we have now is a way to do it; I don’t know. But I want to try because I don’t want to hate him. I can’t keep that emotion with me, even though I want to. I need to let it go.”

“So do I,” he said, swallowing hard. “Jack thinks I should write a memoir instead of staying with the series of old cases.”

“It’s not the worst idea.”

“I’m afraid of the nightmares returning. The past hurts.”

“I know it does,” she said. She touched her hand to his neck, massaging the tense muscles. “But getting it out might heal some of those old wounds that still bleed. It might turn them into scars – something to remember instead of something that still hurts you.”

“I want…” He lost his nerve and looked at his hands before he found the courage to continue. “I want us to have another baby. Not now, but when Ed’s a little older.”

“We’re not getting any younger. It’ll have to be soon if you’re serious.”

“I’m serious.”

She studied his face. That little boy inside who grew up so alone was coming out, and she understood what he wanted for them and Ed, too. 

Family, more than the sturdy triangle of three. A compact group of four, with siblings that would always be there for each other. It was something that neither of them had and had tried to find in others who had failed them. 

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Did I stutter?”

He bit his lip and smiled. “Sassy much?”

“I learned it from you,” she said, kissing him. Her eyes moved to the screen, and she moved away and yelled, “Goddamn it, get that fucking second-string loser off his blind side!”

“Clarice?”

“Huh?” she said absently.

“Come back to the sideline,” he said, capturing her lips with his.

* * *

Clarice turned on the baby monitor and rolled over, facing Will.

“Hi,” she said.

“Can we bring him back in here, after?”

“Duh,” she said. “But not just yet.”

She’d been nervous about sex, even after Dr. Wyman gave them the okay. Everything felt different, but thankfully Will was more than patient with her fears, even having a few of his own about hurting her. But she’d had a glass of wine before they went to bed, though they’d need to give Ed a bottle when he woke, just to be safe. Her body was as relaxed as she could make it, but she was ready to begin again.

Will kissed her, his hands wandering over her body, leaving her breasts for last. She shook when he touched them with the back of his knuckles, the rough texture of his skin making her weak-kneed. They’d have to change the sheets; the mess that regular sex brought was enough for a fresh set. She hadn’t pumped after Ed ate, and the creamy milk continued to flow freely. He fixed his mouth to a nipple, his body going slack as he expertly sucked, and her hand drifted to his cock. She stroked it, fluid dripping from the tip onto her fingers, and she brought her hand to her mouth, tasting him as he tasted her. Even though he was relaxed, she started to tense, her body almost singing with desire. She felt like a goddess, like Mother Earth herself, and her hand went back to his shaft, stroking him as hard as she dared.

It was perfect, a synchronization of life, a completion of something she didn’t understand. It could have been the wine, or maybe the hormones, but she felt drunk and high at the same time. The muscles in her body relaxed and tensed in an endless rhythm, and her hand moved away from his groin until she found her cleft, wet from the milk that had trailed down her stomach and gathered between her legs. It was so slick, and she rubbed her clitoris between her fingers until the tension broke.

“ _God_ ,” she screamed, not caring if she woke the baby or the dogs. Will abandoned her breast and moved quickly, sliding inside her before the orgasm ended. It hurt; the muscles that rebounded after birth had tightened, and she felt like a virgin reborn. But it was a good hurt, and she grabbed his buttocks, drawing him in deeper as she continued to tremble.

“Clarice… _oh, fuck,_ ” he groaned. Everything was wet, but it didn’t matter, not when it felt like heaven. He found her breast again, sucking as he moved his hips, and she couldn’t even think for the pleasure pulsing through her body. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this, was it? Everyone said the first time after was awful, but this… this was…

She started to scream, and he placed his hand loosely over her mouth, catching the worst of her cries before his hips started to jerk rapidly, and he moaned with her. She was falling back to earth from a high that made her tear up. His chest was her comfort now, and she curled against him as she wept.

“What wrong?” he whispered.

“I don’t know. Nothing’s wrong,” she sniffled. “It was so good that I didn’t want it to end.”

“We can always do it again later,” he reminded her.

“I need to come one more time,” she begged.

His fingers inched inside her, thrusting as his cock had, and when he suckled her nipple back into his mouth, it started anew. The intensity of her pleasure made her gasp; the wet heat of the milk and his body on hers was too much, yet just enough, just right, just… so fucking perfect. The world tilted and shifted, rocking with her as her hips moved with his hand. A keening cry rose from her throat, and she grabbed a pillow, holding it to her mouth as she hoarsely screamed.

She didn’t want to come down, and the tears returned, exhaustion mixing with her emotions. Will held her until it was over, murmuring something sweet into her ear. It calmed her, and when her breathing finally slowed, she opened her eyes. His were foggy and so blue, sleepy from good sex and warm milk. He kissed her slowly, his languid tongue touching hers.

“That was… I’ve never seen you like that. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“I…” She swallowed and gasped, her body quaking again. “It’s never felt like that before.”

“Do you want to try for a third time?”

She shook her head. “I think I’m too tired. That was intense.”

“That’s an understatement,” he said, kissing her again. His thigh touched hers, then his cock, which was somehow hard. 

She looked down and broke the kiss. “So soon?”

“Believe me, it’s a shock. But watching you made him revive.”

“Then he should come home,” she insisted.

“I don’t want to wear you out,” he said.

“Please?” she said. “Let me love you.”

It was easier, this time. They rocked against each other slowly, savoring the friction their bodies made. Even if the earth didn’t move, their hearts beat in time as they made love, and they came together in a blanket of comfort. Afterward, they held each other, unmoving until Will looked at the clock and groaned. 

“He’ll be awake soon. We need to work fast.”

They changed the sheets, even needing to pull out the spare mattress cover though the mattress itself was thankfully dry. Instead of taking turns, they showered together, scrubbing backs and fronts until the hot water ran cold. Clarice stepped into a pair of yoga pants just as she heard Ed starting to stir on the monitor.

“I’ve got him,” Will said. “It’s my turn. Father and son bonding time, with a warm bottle. Stay here and rest.”

She grinned at him gratefully, giving him a quick kiss when he left the bathroom. Grabbing a towel and her pump, she laid on the bed, and she turned on the machine. She must have fallen asleep because she was on her side when she woke, the towel beneath her bare breasts and lanolin applied, Will sleeping behind her. His chest was flush against her back, and a heavy arm was draped over her waist. Ed was conked out in his bassinet, his light breathing another comfort in this room. 

She stared at the moon, a full Hunter’s Moon that glowed pale orange in the night sky outside the window. It was a peaceful sight, and she lowered her head back to the pillow, finding sleep again as she burrowed into the heat of Will’s body.


	10. November

Every morning Will took the dogs out to check the mailbox back at the old house. It was a decent walk, good for the heart and good to burn some of the energy out of their pack. Usually, there wasn't any mail to bring home since everything had been changed over to the new address months ago. But occasionally, someone would forget to forward the items along or get sloppy. When he opened the rusty door, he saw a thin letter inside that he shoved in his pocket before looking at the house. It was still there, a little saggier than it had been the day before. He gave it a half-hearted salute, clicked his tongue to his teeth, and turned back home.

Clarice was up, making coffee in the kitchen. She had on something she called a romper that barely covered her bottom and stayed unbuttoned at the top most of the time. He crept behind her, not surprising her when he slipped his arms around her waist, his hand creeping in to caress her stomach.

"Morning," she sighed happily. "How was your walk?"

"It's getting cold out there," he replied. "We'll probably have snow in a couple of days."

"Snow for Thanksgiving. I could get used to that."

"You better. No sandy holidays out here." He smelled the skin at the nape of her neck, kissing it before he grabbed a coffee cup. 

"What's that?" she asked, pointing at his pocket.

"There must be a new assistant at the publisher. They put the old address on it."

"Have you read it?"

"I wanted to wait until I got home, in case it was bad news. They didn't tell Diane anything, so it might be a rejection. Happy endings don't sell memoirs," he said, taking a sip of coffee before pulling the letter from his pocket. 

It was tempting not to open it and forget about this project altogether. In a flurry of activity, he'd written the rough draft in three weeks of intense working days. The nights hadn't been terrible like he'd expected them to be, but maybe it was Clarice's effort to make sure he was exhausted before he went to bed. After giving the intact envelope one final look, he tore it open and read the letter.

"Holy. _Fucking_. Shit."

Clarice's head reared back in surprise. He wasn't one to curse often, and when he did, it was for a reason. "They hated it?"

"Well, do you really want to go back to work?"

"I thought I did, but after being home for so long, I'd rather stay with you and Ed," she admitted. "I still have most of Johnny's life insurance money and his pension if we need it."

"That's for Ed," he murmured.

"I know," she said. "But it's there if the worst happens. Has it happened?"

"I don't know," he said, showing her the letter.

Her eyes grew wide, and the paper started to shake in her hand. "Give me your goddamn reading glasses. I'm getting as old as you are. How many zeroes are… what the actual _fuck_ , Will?"

"I've never seen that many either," he said. "And that's just the advance."

She swallowed and looked up at him. "There will be more?"

"Depending on how well it sells, yeah."

"And there's already an offer for an… option?"

"If I agree to it. My luck would be that a stupid studio would change the ending to my own damn life. They'd probably have me drink myself to death, let Hannibal live and go back to the BSHCI, just to escape again and run off with you in the last act."

"That'll be a cold day in hell," she muttered. "Put in a clause that they'd have to keep the story as is."

"I might do that," he said, putting the letter back in the envelope and putting it on top of the fridge. "Clarice, you don't have to work. Especially not after this."

"You just want me barefoot and pregnant," she teased.

"Well, actually I do," he said. "Do you want to practice?"

"Later," she promised. "I'll gonna make that warm fudge again, to celebrate. And you can lick it off anything you want."

"Promise?"

"Oh, yeah," she said. She put her hands in the back pockets of his jeans, pulling her to him. "And I'll lick it off anything you want, too."

"You're a mess," he chuckled.

"I think we'll both be a mess if we're lucky," she said. Her eyes grew distant, and he put a finger under her chin, lifting them back up to his.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Do… do you think women still do this? Choose not to work? Raise babies and cook, fix up old houses that their husband's neglect?"

"I think they do if that's what they want. Is it what you want, Clarice?"

"Definitely," she said, standing on her toes to kiss him. He leaned into her, pressing her against the counter until the last thing she said registered.

"Did you say fix up the old house?"

She laughed and pulled him closer with both hands, kissing him until it didn't matter to him in the least what she did over there, as long as she came back home.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"Yep," she said, staring at the patch on the side of the farmhouse, still trying to figure out how on earth they were going to repair it properly. "But I might lose my nerve if we don't hurry up. What are we doing here?"

"Do you see that trail behind the barn?"

She shaded her eyes with her hands since the thick blanket of snow reflected the bright sun. There was a space in the bank of trees, and she could see the old stones that marked the entrance. "I see it."

"About two hundred feet out, there's a meadow to the right, or there is when the weather is nice. I put up a blank marker where I buried him."

"Why?" She grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard as he started to speak.

"No one claimed him. Hannibal didn't have any family left. I thought Chiyo might come for him, but she's never resurfaced. I didn't want him to go to a potter's field," he said, his voice getting low and raw. "I was afraid someone would find him in a public cemetery and vandalize his grave. This way, I’ll always know he's taken care of. Well, me and Jack. And now you."

"It's why you wouldn't sell it after we got married, isn't it?"

"Part of the reason," he said. "I also hope… well, maybe one day one of our kids might want to live close to us."

She hugged him hard, kissing his cheek before she got out of the warm car. Ed was asleep in the back seat, and Will took the second draft of the new book from the diaper bag as she quietly shut the door.

Clarice wore a thick coat, hunter green, with a bright scarf around her neck. Her hiking boots were the cheap ones she bought a few years ago when Jame got into a fitness kick, and they'd traveled to the Ozarks a few times to see if they could hike up the mountain trails. As much fun as it had been, the interest had waned for both of them, but she'd kept the shoes. At least they kept her from slipping in the snow, and she passed the line of trees, taking her time as she looked at her surroundings. 

It was beautiful this time of year, at least it was to her. Though all the bright colors of fall were gone, now that the leaves had fallen, and the severe beauty of the stark, grey-barked trees drew her in. She would come back often throughout her life, but no time would ever be as vivid in her memory as the first.

There was a clearing to the right, just as Will said, and though it was half-covered with snow, the plain, rough-hewn gravestone stood out in the corner. She walked to it, setting her bag by her feet. 

"Hello, Dr. Lecter," she said. "I'm Clarice Star… Brig… fuck it, I've had too many names, and the new one hasn't been mine for very long. I'm Clarice Graham. Will and I got married during the summer, though you probably know that even if you are rotting in hell like the papers said. But somehow, I don't think that's true. Not by a long shot. I think you got sent here to make a whole heap of trouble, and punishment for you would be getting pulled back to heaven. An eternity of good intentions and sin-free living? Must be torture."

She pulled a shot glass from her bag along with a flask of the best tequila her money would buy and poured a few drops in the glass, tossing it back. Even the small amount of the potent liquor burned her throat, and she coughed as she poured the second up to the top. She turned the glass over, watching the clear liquid dance on the pure snow.

" _Para los santos_ ," she whispered. Then she brought out a small wreath, made from Rose of Sharon and cherry blossoms, and placed it against the stone. "We have something in common. You and I love that man waiting for me back at the house, and he loves us, too. He doesn't like to say it about you, but I can feel it, just like I know you could. It's probably what drew you close to him, beyond that sick desire you had to mess with his head. Even with all the hurts he's had and the ways he's tried to cover them up, he loves deeply. I see it when he looks at me when I wake up in the morning and when he rocks our son to sleep. I'd imagine you were the same way, underneath all the bullshit. I bet when you woke next to him, you drank in every ounce of that love like a moth sipping at tears. It fed you, somewhere inside, someplace that you never showed him in a sane way. It's a shame that you didn't because he'd have healed quicker if you'd had the balls to do it."

There was a final item in the bottom of the bag, and she removed it, holding the pregnancy test close to her before dropping it to the ground.

"He's going to be a father again. I found out two days ago, and I'm going to tell him tonight over Thanksgiving dinner. This one will share his genes, those good, wonderful genes you always tried to make him feel ashamed of because you couldn't understand the empathy he possesses. Because you wanted to keep him for yourself," she muttered. "I hope this one is just like him, down the habit he has of tracking mud through the front door when he's deep in thought. Better yet, I hope he or she gets the best of both of us. You would have hated me. I'm pretty sure of it. Not just for giving him what he's always wanted… but for giving him what he needs and deserves to have. And I don't take it away or make him beg. As much as I know you loved him, dammit if you didn't treat him like one of our dogs. It ain't right, even if it's the truth. I wanted you to know that even if you could have seen right through me, I would have seen through you, too. And I'd have called bullshit every time, right to your face."

She picked up the bag and slung it over her shoulder, turning back before she walked away. "As much as I want to hate you, and sometimes I really want to… I don't. I probably would have liked you if we'd met, just a little. I always like a challenge, or else I wouldn't have the life I found with him. Nor would I be talking to a gravestone like you're really here. Maybe one day, I'll feel nothing, and you'll just be an old scar on the history of his life. For now, I'm choosing affection and love. You and Jame chose the opposite, and look what it did. You ruined lives and ripped people away from their families, all for nothing. But… maybe not for nothing. We might not have our life together if he'd never met you. You saved him in your own brutal way, and I'll always be thankful for that. But I think I've saved him better," she said, her hand moving to her middle. "Bye, Dr. Lecter. I heard you liked the little bluebells that grow out in the back yard. I might plant some seeds out here in the spring. They aren't fancy, but they sure are pretty. Aren't they?"

It was and wasn't better, but at least she'd spoken her mind. She walked through the clearing, looking back at the unmarked grave, now marked with her meager offerings. After burying so many people she loved, cemeteries held nothing but sorrow for her, yet this one didn't. It didn't hold joy either but seemed to mark some new emotion for her, one she'd have a name for after a thousand internet searches. 

_Mono no aware._

She walked back to the car. Will was turning a page when his eyes flicked up to hers, meeting them through the glass. She grinned at him, tossing the bag on the floor before sliding inside.

"The snow won't melt anytime soon, will it?" she asked.

"No. It'll probably look like this for a few weeks unless we get that warm front moving up from the gulf."

"Let's build a snowman this afternoon, just in case," she said.

"Baby's First Frosty," he reflected. 

"We'll have to be sure to take pictures with him in his snowsuit."

"Yep," Will said, passing her the loosely bound manuscript. The title stood out on the plain white page: _Shattered Teacups_. It was something he'd thought of while looking at the picture of Abigail that he kept on his desk. Inside, there was a dedication that read _For Clarice, who is part of the superglue that holds the pieces together._

"You ready?"

"Let's go home, Will."


	11. Thirty-Two Decembers Later

"Oh, God. Eddie, do kids really grow up and decide to move in next door to their parents?"

Ed laughed and looped an arm over his little sister's shoulder. Even though he was just over a year older than her and they'd grown up like twins, he never let her forget the tiny age gap. "Well, when kids get knocked up, and their loser husband decides he's too young to be a dad, sure they do. Especially when that kid's parents are as baby crazy as ours are, and her brother and brother-in-law will be the best uncles on the goddamn planet."

"When you put it that way, I should have done this years ago."

"They wouldn't have minded."

Lizzie looked at the farmhouse Ed and Fletch had lived in for the last five years. The house had had plenty of tenants after their mother mended all the cracks with the help of a gifted contractor. But it was Ed and Fletch who made it feel like a home. Just like their parent's place down the road, there was always music and laughter drifting out of the front door, along with the scent of good food. Fletch was a chef, and he loved spoiling his family.

"I feel like I'm crashing a party. Are you sure ya'll won't mind if I move in?"

"Fuck no," he said.

"Watch your mouth. Mom and Dad will be here any second."

"Don't tell me what to do in my own house, little girl," he said, tossing her over his shoulder while he still could. She squealed, laughing as he jogged up the steps and through the front door. He set her down in front of the fireplace and stared at her, wagging his finger as he started his speech. "Now, there are a set of rules you must abide by if you live under my roof. Rule Number One: Don't tell me to watch my fuckin' mouth."

"Fine, but you'll have to be careful after the baby comes."

"Noted. Rule Number Two: If there's a tie on our bedroom door, avoid it at all costs."

"Uh, don't worry about that," she said.

"Rule Number Three: Fletch and I get to be the godparents of this and all future offspring."

"I'd already planned on it," she said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He ruffled her hair. "Stay here as long as you want, sis. Live here forever if you need to. It's good to have you back home."

"Thanks, Eddie," she said, kissing his cheek. "Any more rules I need to know about?"

"Yeah, no writing on the walls, but that's Fletch's rule more than mine. Mostly because I can't aim."

"TMI."

They grabbed her suitcases, Ed graciously letting her carry the heaviest one up the stairs. An old rotary phone hung on the wall, and Lizzie took it off the receiver, like she always did, and pretended to call their parents. "Hey, Mom? Yeah, it's Lizzie. Can you tell Dad to come over? Ed is being a total shit for brai–"

"Ha-ha," he said, hanging up the phone. "Which one do you want to be yours?"

"Dad's old writing room."

"Really?"

"Why not?"

"It might be haunted, Lizzie girl."

"Shut up, doofus," she said, walking to the right. She opened the door and looked in. Her furniture arrived before she did, and the boys must have been up all night setting it up. She was touched, even more so when she saw the vase of flowers sitting on their dad's old desk. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she turned to her brother, letting him give her a tight hug. 

"Hey, it's gonna be alright. We're all here to take care of you."

"I know," she cried. "It's the hormones."

"Bullshit," he said, but he held her until the tears were gone.

"Oh yuck, get off me. The parents might think we love each other if they see us hugging."

"Wouldn't that be awful?"

"Yep," Lizzie said. She sat at Will's old desk and smelled the flowers before impulsively opening the drawers. It was more habit than anything. He used to hide candy underneath his notes, and she was always the best at finding it. But instead of peppermints and Jolly Ranchers, she felt a few loose photos when her hand went to the back of the top drawer.

"What did you find?" Ed asked.

She shrugged her shoulders and pulled them out. "Some old pictures. You used to be cute before you got so ugly."

"I'm better looking than you, and you know it," he said, standing behind her. "Look at mom. That must have been after she moved to Virginia."

"Poor mom," she said. 

"It turned out alright," Ed murmured, taking the photo from her. "You look just like her. You know that?"

"I guess." She glanced at the next picture, one of heavily pregnant Clarice in a white sundress and Will in one of the few ties he owned. It made her teary again, and she quickly passed it to her brother. There were a few of Ed as a newborn, at the hospital and in a snowsuit in front of a lopsided snowman. She flipped through them until she found one that made her laugh out loud. "Who knew you used to be a breast man?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

She handed the picture to him, one of a topless Clarice nursing Ed in the living room. He shuddered and gave it back to her. "Gross."

"It gets worse. Look," she said, passing him another one.

"Damn, Mom. Put a shirt on," Ed groaned.

"At least she'll have some tips."

"That means Dad will, too. You know how he is about learning new things."

"Truth," she said. "Now that's pretty sweet." At the bottom, after her baby pictures, a few obligatory nursing stills, and one of them sailing on the boat was a photo of Will asleep in bed, a dark-haired toddler curled up next to him with a baby on his chest. Ed took the picture from her and sighed, putting a hand on top of his sister's head.

"He's always loved being a dad," he said. 

"Do you think he'll like being a grandfather just as much?"

"You'll probably have to fight him to spend time with your own kid when we're not fighting for time with our nephew."

The door opened downstairs, along with the patter of paws. "How many do they have now?"

"Just two. Vinnie died last night. They went out to the cemetery to bury him this morning."

"Oh, no. Is Dad okay?"

"I think so, but they've decided not to take in any more strays for a while."

"Probably a good thing," she said, standing up. They walked down the stairs, Lizzie following behind her brother.

"Hey, son," Will said, hugging him.

"There's my sweet girl," Clarice said, grabbing Lizzie and encasing her with a warm embrace. She held her, rocking her when the tears came again. Will held her from behind, kissing the top of her head.

"You'll get through this," Will whispered. "You've got all the support you need right here."

"I know," she said, her voice muffled against Clarice's shoulder. "Thank you."

The dogs barked, running to the door.

"It's early for Fletch to be home," Ed said. "He doesn't get off until ten."

"It's not Fletch," Will said. "I asked Ben to come over and help put together the rest of Lizzie's furniture."

"I hate to tell you, Dad, but we did it all last night."

"Really?"

Ed scoffed. "I'm a carpenter, old man. That bedroom furniture put itself together."

There was a knock on the door, and Ed answered it. "Hey, Ben. We took care of it all before she got here."

"Oh," a deep voice answered, sounding a little disappointed. Lizzie peeked over her mother's shoulder and saw a very tall man, but his features were shadowed by the afternoon sun glaring behind him. "I'll just be…"

"Come on in. There's beer in the fridge, and Fletch made _tarte tatin_ last night. There's some left if you want a piece."

"Thank you." He walked into the house, and Lizzie was able to see his face. He was scarred almost as badly as her father was, but he had kind green eyes that crinkled around the edges when he smiled at her parents. 

"Lizzie, this is Ben. He bought the old Jameson place across from us a while back."

"Nice to meet you," Lizzie said.

"Likewise," Ben said. "Your parents said you're moving in with your brother."

She nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies she felt when he spoke in that deep, gentle voice.

"Ben teaches at the Academy," Will said.

"He's the new Will Graham," Ed added, snorting.

"Jesus, don't curse him with that title."

"He's not entirely wrong, Will," Ben said.

"What happened?" Lizzie asked.

"I, uh… I used to work for counterterrorism. Let a pretty sick bastard get in my head."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "I am now. Your dad has been a big help, getting me back to myself. Your mom too."

Clarice patted his back affectionately. "You gonna come over for dinner tonight?"

"If you're offering."

"That goes for you guys, too," Clarice said, squeezing her daughter's shoulder. "I'm making your favorite, roast chicken and mashed potatoes."

"Thanks, Mom," she said. "That sounds great."

They walked to Graham home, Ben between Clarice and Will with Ed and Lizzie following behind. A warm front had cleared last week's snow, though it was cold enough that Will would probably offer to drive them home. 

Lizzie leaned close to her brother, whispering, "I thought they weren't taking in any more strays."

Ed shrugged. "He's not a stray anymore. Ben moved here one… two years ago? You know how Mom is. As soon as he walked through the door of that old dump, she showed up with a hammer and a bag full of food. He was on leave after getting hurt and didn't have anyone checking in on him other than his SSA and a therapist. She and Dad basically decided he was their third kid."

"Jealous?"

"If he keeps getting the first pick of Mom's brownies, I will be. It's been nice having him around. He's a good guy."

"High praise," Lizzie mused.

"Just watch yourself. I bet they'll try to play matchmaker."

"The ink is barely dry on my divorce papers."

"But you two were on the outs for a while, weren't you?"

"He moved out twice last year," Lizzie admitted. "I know no one likes to say a baby is an accident, but this one was."

"You have options."

"I know. But I want to be a mom if I can be like her," she said, nodding ahead.

"You will be," Ed said.

"You think so?"

"Abso-fuckin-lutely."

Lizzie grinned and leaned against her big brother. They were almost home, and she was excited to see it again. Even if there weren't a thousand dogs in the yard anymore, the old tire swing was still out front, as was the treehouse in the back that Clarice built when they were little. The little thing was sturdy, and it was hard to resist the urge to climb up into it with a book in tow. She was thinking about doing just that when she walked into the house.

"You better clean that mess up," Clarice called behind her.

"Huh? Oh. Sorry Mom," Lizzie said, looking at the muddy tracks behind her.

"I got it," Ed said.

"So generous."

"Just don't do it at our place, or Fletch and I will both spank your ass."

"Eddie…" Will warned.

"Sorry, Dad. We'll spank her little baby bottom."

Lizzie raised an eyebrow at her brother.

"What? His house, his rules."

* * *

Dinner was comforting, and though she tried to keep up with the conversation while everyone else had coffee with their pie, Lizzie's eyes got too heavy to hold open. She fell asleep on the couch, and when she woke, she was pressed against a strong, muscled shoulder.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't worry about it," Ben said.

"I guess I better put the baby girl to bed. We've kept her up past her bedtime."

Clarice wagged her finger in Ed's direction. "Edward Johnathan –"

"Graham, if you don't quit teasing your sister, I'm going to take away your PS8," Ed said, mocking his mother's accent. "Come on, Mom. I've got to make up for lost time. She's a big girl now. She can take it."

"I'm not that tired, but it's… well, nuts," Lizzie said as she looked at the clock. It was only eight o'clock.

"Go home and enjoy the sleep while it lasts," Clarice said. "Pretty soon you'll be wide awake and thinking about nothing but…" She looked at Will and blushed.

"Football," Will said quickly.

"Geaux Tigers," Ed said.

"Gig'em," Lizzie challenged.

"Doesn't anyone in this family call the Hogs?" Ben asked.

Three sets of eyes stared icily in his direction. 

"That would be a hell no," Clarice said.

"Not cool, dude," Ed added.

"I like them," Lizzie said. "Especially after they beat the crap out of LSU last month."

"Lizzie," Will said patiently. "We don't talk about such things in this house."

"Speaking of which, aren't LSU and A&M playing each other in thirty minutes?" Ed asked.

"You know what, it might be my bedtime after all," Lizzie said, feigning a big yawn.

"Do you want a ride home?" Will asked.

"I'll take her," Ben said. "Arkansas and Mississippi State kick-off at the same time."

"I thought I knew you," Clarice said, the betrayal in her voice sounding very real.

"You know me, Clarice. But a man has to have a few secrets," Ben said, winking at her as he stood. He held out a hand to Lizzie and helped her up, even though she could have done it on her own. She kissed her parents and mock punched Ed on the shoulder before they left. The dogs raised their heads as they walked down the front steps.

"Do you have any dogs?" she asked.

"Yep. A golden retriever. Lady," Ben said. "Do you want to meet her?"

"I'd love to. My ex-husband hated dogs. It should have been a sign."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"I'm not," she said. "Not after seeing the absolute worst of him."

"How far along are you?"

"Three months."

They walked across the road in silence. His house lay behind a thick band of trees, a big sprawling brick home with a wrap-around porch. There was a Jeep off to the side, and a friendly dog ran off the porch to meet them.

"Hey, Lady. This is Lizzie."

Lizzie knelt and petted her soft fur. "She's adorable."

"She's good company if you need a friend."

"I could probably use one," Lizzie said. "It's hard to trust people when you've had so much of it taken from you."

"You're lucky you've got such a good family."

"I didn't use to think so."

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "I had a big chip on my shoulder growing up. Everyone knowing all that stuff about Dad. It didn't help when they made that awful television series."

"It's a shame that they didn't keep the happy ending that your Dad got to have."

"You think? Plus, they had Mom and Dr. Lecter galivanting around Argentina as forbidden lovers. She was furious. At least the lawsuit paid for medical school, and then some." She gave the dog's ears a final scratch and stood, wiping the fur on her pants.

"I should have warned you about how much she sheds."

"It's alright."

"If you don't mind my asking, what removed the chip?"

"You'll think it's stupid."

"I might not. Try me."

"Mom goes out to the cemetery and talks to Dr. Lecter when she gets mad at him. She took me out there when I was thirteen, and I started talking, too. It helped. At least it got me to talk about how I felt. And the chip just kind of dissolved."

"A psychiatrist who still treats from the grave. Who would have thought?"

"That's what therapy is, at the end of the day: having someone to talk it out with. Sometimes it's better when they don't talk back, but don't tell anyone I said that."

"Are you going to set up a practice out here?"

"Maybe," she said, shivering. The wind was picking up, and it would be snowing before too long. "For now, I'm going to enjoy living on alimony and focus on the baby and me."

"Do you…" Ben shifted uncomfortably. "Do you want to come in for a while? We could watch the game. I can make you a cup of hot chocolate to warm you back up."

Lizzie looked at the big man with the kind voice and eyes, trying to think of a reason to go back to her brother's house and sleep in her old bed. But she couldn't find one, and she returned his shy smile with one of her own. "I'd like that."

They walked into his big, warm home. She sat on a comfy leather couch while he made a fire in the fireplace. "Do you want marshmallows?"

"Of course."

"I'll be right back," he said, passing her a thick blanket.

Lizzie sent a text to her brother as she watched him leave the room.

_Lizzie: Watching AR and MSU with Ben. Be home later. Better game._

_Eddie: Liar. And I told you so._

_Lizzie: Give me a break. I'm pregnant, and he's…_

_Eddie: A tall drink of water?_

_Lizzie: He's nice._

_Eddie: Uh-huh._

_Lizzie: Grow up and get sex off your brain._

_Eddie: You first._

_Lizzie: If I'm not home when Fletch gets there, call me. I want one of his hugs._

_Eddie: He'll understand if you're getting a different hug from our hunky neighbor._

_Lizzie: Bye, Eddie. And don't tell Mom and Dad where I am._

_Eddie: Too late._

_Lizzie: Shit._

Her phone chimed, and she checked the message that her mother sent with a loud sigh.

_Mom: He needs a friend beside me and your dad, sweetie. So do you. I'm glad you're over there. Even if you are watching the two worst teams ever to play football._

Another chime and she read the message from her father.

_Dad: He's a keeper. Definitely not the kind you toss back._

She answered both her parents with a thumbs-up, sent the middle finger emoji to her brother, and turned the phone on vibrate as Ben walked through the door with two mugs. He sat next to her and passed her one before turning on the game. 

"This is delicious," she said, taking another sip.

"It's your mother's recipe. She's been teaching me how to cook."

She figured as much and grinned into her mug. 

"If you want, you could come over tomorrow while it's still daylight. I could grill a few steaks; maybe try to make that chocolate cake your mom says you like so much."

"Why don't I make the cake," she said. "And I'll steal a six-pack of my brother's beer while I'm at it, since he offered you one and didn't pay up."

"Deal," Ben said. He looked at her instead of at the game, indecision passing over to confidence before he spoke. "Your parents talk about you so much that I feel like I already know you. But I'd like to get to know you myself if that's okay."

"I'd like to get to know you, too," she said.

"Do you think FBI instructors and psychiatrists can be friends, Lizzie?"

She laughed. "My family history says they shouldn't, but… I think they can. I actually think they really can."

They smiled at each other again before turning their attention to the game.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is interested, I’m thinking about adding another 10 chapters about Lizzie and Ben (and Eddie and Fletch lol). Now that I’m in their universe... I kind of want to know what they are like, and how history might repeat itself. If you’re interested, let me know. If you aren’t, maybe ignore chapter updates, because now I can’t get them out of my head!


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